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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25288852">No Promised Tomorrow</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faster_Than_the_Speed_of_Sound/pseuds/Faster_Than_the_Speed_of_Sound'>Faster_Than_the_Speed_of_Sound</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AU, Abused Dean Winchester, Abusive John Winchester, Alcoholic John Winchester, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Castiel (Supernatural), Blunt Castiel (Supernatural), Bullying, Car Accidents, Castiel Has a Crush on Dean Winchester, Castiel and Dean Winchester in Love, Castiel's Family is Rich (Supernatural), Dean Winchester Has a Crush on Castiel, Dean Winchester Loves Castiel, Dean Winchester Loves The Impala, Dean Winchester is Sam Winchester's Parent, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, Domestic Fluff, Domestic Violence, Emotionally Hurt Dean Winchester, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Good Older Sibling Gabriel (Supernatural), Good Older Sibling Lucifer (Supernatural), Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Hurt Castiel (Supernatural), Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, John Winchester Being an Asshole, John Winchester Dies, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Mechanic Dean Winchester, Neglected Dean Winchester, Panic Attacks, Pictures, Poor Dean Winchester, Protective Castiel (Supernatural), Protective Dean Winchester, Rich Castiel (Supernatural), Slow Burn, Slow Dancing, Socially Awkward Castiel (Supernatural), Soft Castiel (Supernatural), Soft Dean Winchester, Sorry Not Sorry, Sunrises, Sweet Castiel (Supernatural), Sweet Castiel/Dean Winchester, Sweet Dean Winchester, Teacher Castiel (Supernatural), Underage Drinking, Waiter Dean Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 10:22:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>59,978</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25288852</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faster_Than_the_Speed_of_Sound/pseuds/Faster_Than_the_Speed_of_Sound</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester walks into the first day of school at Lawrence High, not knowing what to expect. He finds an awkward, painfully blunt, blue-eyed boy who is named after an angel.</p><p>The boys become fast friends. Through the heat of Kansas summers and the quiet cool of the early morning, that friendship becomes something more.</p><p>Neither boy has an easy life, however. With homophobic families, abusive, alcoholic fathers, and their own insecurities to combat, the boys have their hands full. They find comfort in each other and the steadfast beauty of the morning sunrise. In the quiet hours, both boys dream of a life far away from their demons, where they can be together in peace. If only they knew how. . .</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Benny Lafitte/Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester, Lisa Braeden/Dean Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>585</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>272</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello, everyone! The fic I've been promising you is here! It's a big one, and it will be a lot of fun. :) I can't wait for you to read it!</p><p>Some notes: There is underage drinking somewhere in here, along with themes of homophobia and some graphic abuse. Please don't read this if it's triggering. You're all too precious for that. :(</p><p>Other than that, this story is actually very light-hearted and centers around our two favorite boys. Thanks for giving it a try!</p><p>Also: I update every three days. I have the whole story finished already, and if you've read my stories before, you know that I almost never miss a date. ;)</p><p>Alright, enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p></p><div>
  <p>     <strong>One</strong></p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean was late to his first day of school.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     It was a long trek from the elementary school to the high school, but Dean <em>had</em> to see Sammy to class on his little brother's first day of fifth grade. There was a thirty minute period between the start of the high school and the start of the elementary school. That, combined with the fifteen minute run Dean had to make to get back to the school, amounted to him missing first period altogether.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He made it to second on time, though he was huffing and puffing. There was only one empty seat near the back, set in the corner.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean flopped into the chair with a breath of relief, flinging his backpack to the ground beside him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Stairs are overrated," someone said.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean turned and found a dark-haired boy peering at him over the top of a science textbook. "I was coming from the elementary school," he said, feeling strangely defensive. "I was dropping off my younger brother."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He was more than a little offended. He was in shape! The three flights of stairs he'd taken to the third floor of their high school had been nothing compared to the stadium runs he'd done with his father during football season.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "No need to get upset," the dark-haired boy said calmly, eyes flicking back to his textbook.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean debated telling the kid that if he'd ever seen 'upset', he wouldn't say that, but he wasn't in the mood to make enemies on the first day of high school. Especially since it seemed that they'd be partners in this class for the year.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean didn't really know what to say, but the quiet was awkward, so instead he blurted, "Why are you reading a science book? We're in Spanish."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "I'm trying to get caught up," the boy replied, calmly folding a bookmark into the textbook as if it was a novel he was reading front to back.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Caught up? It's the first day," Dean grunted, amused.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "I'm in a senior physics class," the dark-haired boy explained calmly. There wasn't an ounce of pride or self-satisfaction in his voice.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Oh!" Dean said, the answer dawning on him. "You're like, one of those nerdy smart people."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "I wouldn't say 'nerdy'," the boy said, sounding a little offended for the first time, "but yes, I suppose I am above average intelligence."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "You talk like a dictionary," Dean replied.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He winced, expecting the boy to get even more offended, but he just tilted his head a little. "My name is Castiel."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Dean," Dean replied, holding out his hand.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     The boy shook it, though the movement was stiff and awkward. Dean winced again. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "My apologies," Castiel said as they both withdrew their hands. "I have been told that I am not 'socially adept'." He used over-exaggerated air quotes around the words 'socially adept', which was sort of adorable. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     But the words registered, and Dean frowned. "What? Who said that? You're fine, man. You just gotta. . . I don't know, smile more."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel didn't smile, though there was a sparkle in his blue eyes as he tilted his head at Dean. "I like you, Dean."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean laughed. This kid put a whole new meaning on 'blunt'.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     That was fine. He could work with that. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "I like you too, Castiel."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     It turned out that he had four classes with Castiel, whom Dean had started affectionately calling 'Cas'. It wasn't for the sentimentality so much as it was that he couldn't remember how to pronounce the guy's name.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "So, what does your name mean?" Dean asked Castiel at lunch.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     His new friend opened his lunch box and pulled out a carefully crafted ham sandwich. "I was named after an angel. All my siblings were. My namesake is the Angel of Thursday."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean blinked. "How many siblings do you have?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Six. Four older brothers and one younger one, along with a younger sister."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean raised his eyebrows. "I didn't even know there were that many angels."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel narrowed his eyes, as if he thought Dean was playing dumb. "There are far more than that."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean shifted a little, uncomfortable, and tried to continue the conversation. "What are their names?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "My older brothers are Michael, Raphael, Gabriel, and Lucifer, though we call him Luke," Castiel replied, carefully unfolding a napkin and placing it over his lap. "My sister is named Anna, and my younger brother is Balthazar."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Fancy names," Dean said. Castiel squinted at him for a moment longer, then seemed to realize that Dean wasn't making fun of him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Indeed. You mentioned you had a sibling?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Yep," Dean replied, lighting up. "I've got a little brother. His name's Sammy, and he's awesome. The smartest, sweetest kid you'll ever meet."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "He goes to the elementary school?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Yeah. He's a fifth grader, it's his first day of being the ’top dog’, you know?" Dean said, grinning.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel smiled a little, his slightly-chapped lips curving upwards. Dean liked when he smiled. It made his eyes crinkle.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "What about your other family? Do you have any more siblings?" Castiel asked.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean shook his head, the warm feeling in his chest dissipating. "Nah. Just me and Sammy and. . . and my dad."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "What about your mother?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean blinked, staring up at Castiel with wide green eyes. The bluntness of the question seemed to register and Dean’s new friend had the decency to flush in embarrassment.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "My apologies. I've been told I can be. . . exceptionally ignorant to social cues. You don't have to answer, if you don't want to," he said.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean blinked a little, swallowing. "Uh, no, it's fine. She's dead. Died when I was four years old, in a house fire."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "I'm sorry to hear that," Castiel replied, sounding genuinely sympathetic. Dean only nodded.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He looked down to avoid making eye contact with the boy across from him, instead picking at the faded wood of the lunch table they were seated at.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Silence reigned, the air awkward for a few minutes.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Finally, Castiel spoke again. "Don't you have a lunch?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean winced. "Nah, I forgot it at home."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Something in the look Castiel sent him made him think that the boy saw right through his bullshit. Still, he didn't push, just reached into his own lunch box and pulled out an apple and a protein bar.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Here. You need something to fuel your mind and your body," he said.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean chuckled, too endeared by the way Castiel had delivered the food to think of declining it. "Thanks, man."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     They spent the rest of lunch talking and eating.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     When Dean picked Sam up at the end of the day, his younger brother was bouncing with excitement.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "How's it going, Sammy?" Dean asked, throwing an arm around his brother's shoulders.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Great, De! There's so many <em>people! </em>And my teacher is <em>great!</em>" Sam told him. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean grinned and listened as Sam rattled off the details of his day, laughing and providing input when needed. Sam managed to talk for the entire thirty minute walk home, which was fine. Dean would never tire of hearing his younger brother.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean's grin melted as they neared their house. He could hear the joy and excitement drain out of Sam's voice, too. He slowly got quieter and then stopped talking in general as they got to their gate.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "You wait here, Sammy," Dean said quietly.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He patted his brother reassuringly on the shoulder and tried not to look too worried as he walked up to the crumbling front porch of their house.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He unlocked the door with his keys, opening it slowly.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     It creaked, and he winced.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     When no sound emerged from inside, Dean poked his head in.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     The keys from the wall were gone. Dean relaxed.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Come on, Sammy," he called back over his shoulder. Sam opened the rotting gate and trotted up the overgrown path, leaping up the crumbling steps. Dean held the door open for him as he entered the house, ruffling his too-long hair as he passed.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean closed the door and locked it behind him, following Sam to the kitchen. His younger brother was already spreading his schoolwork across the table, poring over it with studious intensity.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean chuckled and moved past him, checking the cupboards discreetly. He made sure his body was blocking most of the view inside as he peered into the empty spaces.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean sighed, going to check the jar in the hallway. The cash was dangerously low, meaning that John was out drinking.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "I'm going to go grocery shopping, alright?" Dean asked Sammy. "I'll be back in an hour."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     It took him about thirty minutes to walk all the way to the store, but he always managed to get there in fifteen if he ran the first half.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He needed to get back as soon as possible. He had no way of measuring when John would be home.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     All he knew was that he needed to be there in time to intercept him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Okay. What's for dinner tonight?" Sam asked from where he was doing math homework.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean winced. "It's a surprise."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "So. . . you don't know."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean blinked, glaring at his brother. “Yes, I do. Bitch."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Jerk."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Sam turned from his homework to grin at Dean, something that his older brother couldn't help but return. The dimples on Sam's face made it impossible to be worried around him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "I'll be back soon. If Dad comes home, you go to our room, okay?" Dean asked.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Sam's smile vanished. "Okay."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean waved a little at him, then turned and left the house, already breaking into a light jog as he traveled the familiar path to the grocery store.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean made it back in forty-five minutes, panting and breathless. He took the time to catch his breath before he entered the house, laden with groceries.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     All the tension flew out of him as he saw that the wall was still bare, the keys still gone. John hadn't returned.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Dean?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "It's me, buddy," Dean called, responding to Sam's question.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He headed into the kitchen and deposited all the cash he'd managed to save into the jar. The clinking of the coins was too loud, and he cringed as Sam turned and looked at the jar.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     His face fell. "Are we gonna be able to eat next week?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Of course, buddy. Don't worry, I'll figure something out," Dean assured him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Sam smiled up at him, but it was tight with worry. "Okay."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He went back to his homework, but Dean could see that he wasn't focusing as well by the way his pencil tapped more.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean glanced back at the jar, a hot surge of anger blindsiding him for a moment.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     <em>Sam doesn't deserve this bullshit</em>, he thought angrily. He glared at the door, as if he could see through it to whichever bar John Winchester was currently getting shitfaced in.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     After a moment, he sighed and turned back to the kitchen, resolving to finish the dishes and make Sammy's lunch for the next day.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He was halfway through making him a pathetic excuse for a peanut butter sandwich when the sound of a familiar engine ripped through the night.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean tensed a little, turning to find his younger brother watching him with wide eyes.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Go on to our room, Sammy. Bring your homework. I'll be in there with dinner soon," Dean promised. He smiled calmly, for his brother's sake.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Sam nodded, not buying Dean's calm exterior for a second.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He gathered his homework as fast he could, bolting down the short hallway to the tiny room they shared.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean gritted his teeth, hurrying to finish the sandwich he'd been making before hiding the groceries in the cupboards. He put Sam's packed lunch on a chair in the corner, where he knew his brother would take it in the morning.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     The keys sounded in the door. Dean closed his eyes and counted the seconds, counted how long the keys scratched at the lock, struggling to make it into the actual slot.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Fifteen seconds.     </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He had a chance. John was definitely very drunk. Hopefully too drunk to do any real damage.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     The lock clicked and the door creaked violently as it was flung open. Dean flinched a little as it slammed into the wall, taking a few chips of paint off with it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     John Winchester stumbled in.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Why didn't you answer when I called you, boy?" John slurred angrily, the door banging shut behind him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean winced. "You broke my phone a few nights ago, sir."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "What? No I didn't!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Yes, sir. You threw it at my head. It hit the wall," Dean replied quietly.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     John growled, slapping Dean hard as he staggered past him into the kitchen. He stank of booze, and it made Dean sick. "Pathetic piece of shit. All your fault," he growled.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Thankfully, he stumbled past the kitchen and went to the living room instead. Dean relaxed a little, cheek stinging from the harsh slap.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     John was a mean drunk, but he was even meaner when he was only a little bit buzzed and ready to drink more. When he was blackout drunk, he was always too disoriented to do any real damage.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He stumbled into the chair in the living room, falling into it with a grumble.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean hurried with a random rendition of mac and cheese, adding ridiculous amounts of pepper and salt to it in an attempt to make it less bland than normal.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He poured it into two bowls, a flash of selfishness keeping him from scooping a third portion into a bowl for his father. John Winchester wouldn't wake up until early afternoon tomorrow anyway.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean took the bowls and hurried to the room he shared with Sam, smiling reassuringly as he entered.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Is he drunk?" Sam asked, though they both knew it was a stupid question.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Not that bad," Dean lied. He gave Sam his bowl, a significantly larger amount of mac and cheese piled into it, then sat down on his own bed and shoveled the food into his mouth. He was starving.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Dean, can you help me with this? I have no idea what a reciprocal is," Sam said after a while.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean put his empty bowl to the side and stood, sitting down on the small twin bed his brother had. "Sure, Sammy."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He helped him with his homework, then went and did the dishes while Sam got ready for bed. When he'd brushed his teeth and changed into his sleep shirt and boxers, Dean took the bathroom and did the same.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He finished quickly and turned off the light, listening to hear his father already snoring in the darkness of the living room.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean crept into the living space and grabbed an old, ragged blanket from the sofa, draping it over John Winchester's sleeping form. Then he hurried back into the room he shared with Sam and turned off the light, shutting the door with a soft click.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Goodnight, Dean," Sam called quietly in the darkness.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean smiled a little, despite how weary he felt, despite the stinging in his cheek. "Goodnight, Sammy."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He closed his eyes and fell asleep.</p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello, everybody. :) How are you today?</p><p>I have the next chapter, and it has some insight into Castiel's life. These first two were more about introducing the characters, and the story starts happening after that.</p><p>Enjoy a day in the life of Castiel Novak. ;)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p></p><div>
  <p>     <strong>Two</strong></p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel had decided that he liked Dean Winchester.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     The boy was loud and incredibly stupid sometimes, but he didn't call Castiel an idiot and he didn't look at him with that judgmental, pitying look his mother gave him every day.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Besides, Castiel liked Dean's laugh. His new friend laughed a <em>lot</em>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He laughed at teachers, at other students, at ridiculous math problems on the homework they did during lunch together. He laughed at Castiel, even though the other boy hadn't been trying to be funny. It was an okay kind of laughter, though. Not cold and cruel and mocking. Dean's laughter was warm and hearty and made Castiel smile every single time.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel got to know more about Dean. He got to know that Dean absolutely loved classic rock, that pie was his favorite food, that he adored his younger brother, Sammy.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He also learned other things. Information gleaned from simply watching the boy, from being on the lookout for the quite moments in between the laughter and the jokes and the loud shit-talking.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel learned that Dean's father hit him a lot on Fridays, because he would have the whole weekend for the bruises to almost-but-not-quite fade. He knew that because Dean hated Fridays, hated the end of the school day even though it meant he could go see Sam. He knew that because even though Dean came up with wild, crazy excuses for his injuries, Castiel recognized what he looked like when he lied.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel learned that Dean knew how to make over a hundred different variations of out-of-the-box mac and cheese. He learned that Dean was actually a good cook, because he had to cook dinner and breakfast and make lunch for his younger brother and his father every day.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel learned that Dean did sports to cover up the injuries his father gave him. He knew that because Dean always walked him to the parking lot where Castiel was picked up by his family's driver, Zachariah, and some days he couldn't walk with him because he had to go to the nurse for an injury he pretended he got from the football field.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel never said anything. Dean's injuries were a touchy subject. Anything to do with Dean's home life was a touchy subject, save for Sam.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     So they talked about everything else. They talked about sports, and about their siblings, and about the new teachers or the latest assignment or what they had going on after school.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     They didn't talk about the time Dean came to school and collapsed because he had an untreated concussion. They didn't talk about the way he had ducked his head and gone quiet the one time John Winchester had called him on his crappy, borrowed phone.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     They didn't talk about their real problems, and that was fine.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     <em>Right?</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel blinked from where he was daydreaming, glancing back down at his book.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     The only two classes he didn't have with Dean were science and math. He took senior classes for both, and he keenly felt the lack of Dean's presence in those two classes. Sure, they were fine, and he was typically too busy working hard to understand the concepts to really worry about the lack of warm, bright personality in the room.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     It was just. . . The seniors weren't exactly thrilled that there was a 'braniac freshman' in their class. It didn't help that Castiel was socially awkward, blunt, and completely ignorant to social cues sometimes.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean was typically there to help him. He shook his head when Castiel went too far with an explanation, smiled and diffused the tension when Castiel said something awkward. Castiel looked forward to the classes he had with Dean greatly.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     But for now, he was fine. He only had ten minutes left in this class anyway, and then he had sixth period history with Dean.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel finished the worksheet he'd been struggling with, sighing softly as he turned it over. He didn't miss the glare that the two seniors across from him sent his way. They weren't even done with the first page, and whatever they didn't finish was homework.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel looked back at his own paper, determined not to care about the glares he could tell he was receiving.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Class ended a few minutes later. Castiel turned in his paper behind an exceptionally talented junior and a super senior who'd taken the class three times already.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He turned and left the classroom, hurrying down two flights of stairs to get to the History and World Studies hall.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     The second he got into his history classroom, he relaxed a little. Dean wasn't in yet. He always came in right as the bell was ringing. Castiel claimed their two seats next to the window, dumping his backpack in Dean's place.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He sat down with a sigh, categorizing the homework he needed to finish after school.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He had an essay due in two weeks, but he was going to finish it tonight. He needed to have the most time to edit and revise as possible. Other than a science graph to draw up and whatever homework would be assigned in this class, he had nothing else to do.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Students began to file in. After a few minutes, Dean entered the room, grinning at Castiel from the doorway. Barely ten seconds later, the bell tolled.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel snorted, pulling his backpack from Dean's chair as he plopped down next to him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Thanks for saving me a seat," Dean said, winking at Castiel.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel hadn't had to, of course. Most people didn't really sit next to him voluntarily. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     That was fine. Dean was enough for him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     The teacher entered, and class began. Castiel whacked Dean with a pencil when the boy fell asleep in the middle of the lecture, and he gave him a glare when Dean showed him the dragon he'd doodled on his notebook. Castiel went back to his neat, detailed notes, knowing Dean was probably copying off of him instead of listening like he should have been.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "You have a partner project due in two weeks," the teacher told them. "You can pick your partner this time, but that may not always be the case."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel turned his head to the side and caught Dean's wink.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel couldn't help but smile thankfully at him. He didn't know what he would have done if he'd had to choose a random partner and struggle through the social interactions that came with it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Your job will be to create a detailed map of the United States, complete with major rivers, mountain ranges, state names, capitals, and color-coded regions," the teacher said. "I expect it to be neat and accurate. It will be worth one hundred points of an assessment grade."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel frowned, calculating in his head. That amount of assessment points could make or break their grade for the year.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     A few minutes later, the bell rang, and everyone packed up their stuff.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean, who had packed up while the teacher was still talking, bounced his knee impatiently as Castiel slowly and deliberately put each pencil and pen in its place and made sure each notebook was facing the proper direction.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Alright, let's go," Castiel said when he was finished.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean snorted. "Fucking finally." His voice had a teasing tone, despite his best attempts to seem annoyed, so Castiel could tell he wasn't too upset.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     They joined the stream of students exiting the building, talking through the details of the poster. Castiel assured Dean that he could get the poster paper and the other supplies needed.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Are you sure, man? I can get the. . . I mean, Sam has a ridiculous amount of markers," Dean said, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Don't worry about it," Castiel replied, flushing a little at the thought of how much art supplies they had at home. His parents had invested in it only because the creative outlet was the only way to get Gabriel to stop painting the walls of the family living room.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Alright, if you insist," Dean said, though Castiel could tell he was embarrassed. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     The financial state the Winchesters were in wasn't lost on Castiel. He was far more observant than most people gave him credit for, and he had quickly learned that Dean's never-ending excuses for not having a lunch weren't to be taken seriously.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     It was fine. Castiel had plenty of food, and he was perfectly capable of packing all of it into his lunch box and sharing the extras with Dean.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     The only person who noticed was Luke, and he never commented anything save for a raised eyebrow and a knowing wink.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel never understood what that meant.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He saw that Zachariah had arrived already, right on time as always. Castiel had felt ashamed of the silver Tesla that his family's driver picked him up in, until he'd seen the '67 Impala Dean's father drove. It was probably the most expensive thing the Winchesters owned, and it was Dean’s secret pride and joy.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     “Thanks for walking with me, Dean," Castiel said. "I'll see you tomorrow."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "No problem, man. See you."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean waved, then sprinted off in the direction of the elementary school, where he would pick up Sammy and they'd walk home.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel turned and climbed into the back of the car.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Mister Castiel, who is that boy you keep walking with?" Zachariah asked as Castiel closed the door. "I see you with him nearly every day."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Just a friend, Zachariah," Castiel responded, feeling strangely protective of Dean. He didn't really want his mother to know about him, but he knew that the driver would surely report to the mistress of the Novak household.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He was quite for the rest of the drive home, Zachariah sensing his mood and leaving him be.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     When they got to the estate, Castiel climbed out and thanked Zachariah, voice a little distant. He'd have to ask Gabriel for some of his art supplies, but he figured if he smuggled candy from Luke's room, he could manage to bribe his older brother.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     His mother was waiting for him when he entered. Castiel kept his eyes on the ground, looking at her neatly shined black shoes.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Castiel."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Mother. How was your day?" Castiel asked, careful to keep his face blank.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Fine. What did you do at school?" Naomi Novak asked.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "In first period, I had a presentation."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "And?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "I got ninety-eight on it," Castiel replied, feeling his cheeks heat a little with shame.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Naomi was quiet for a moment. Finally, she spoke. "Why?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "I stuttered a bit, and I didn't quite make eye contact as much as the professor would have liked," Castiel replied.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "What will you do in the future?" Naomi asked.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "I. . . I'll memorize the speech more thoroughly, and I'll make sure to look up at least ten times," Castiel said, mind scrambling to figure out if that was good enough.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Twelve."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Yes, Mother."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "What else did you do?" Naomi asked.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     And so it continued. At some point, Anna came into the room, saw that Castiel was being grilled on his day at school, and made a quick exit. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     When Castiel had told his mother what he'd done, he figured he should mention Dean before Zachariah did. "I also walked to the car with. . . with Dean," he said.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Naomi straightened in her high-backed chair. "Dean? Who is Dean?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "He's my friend," Castiel replied, feeling strangely defensive again.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Your friend," Naomi repeated, sounding unconvinced. "Is he a man of God?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel frowned, realizing he didn't know. He didn't think so, based on the boy's obvious obliviousness when it came to sin and the angels. He also cursed a lot. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     But Castiel didn't want to tell his mother that. He knew she would order him to stop spending time with Dean, and Castiel didn't want that.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "I don't know, Mother," he replied.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Naomi frowned. "Hmm. Very well. Just remember the teachings of God, Castiel," she said.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Feeling relieved that this was almost over, Castiel nodded. "Of course, Mother."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "You may go," Naomi said, dismissing Castiel. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel ducked his head in acceptance and hurried to his room, nearly tripping on the red carpet that covered the hardwood floor as he rushed through the large hallways of the mansion.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He didn't know why, but he felt like he'd just lied.</p>
</div><div>
  <p><em>     I didn't lie. I told the truth. I </em>don't<em> know if Dean follows the teachings of God.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p><em>     But. . . I didn't tell the </em>whole<em> truth.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>     Did I sin? Did I lie?</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>     Well. . . It doesn't matter, right? Not if no one knows.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel felt guilty, as if he'd done something awful, but he decided he was 'just being ridiculous', as Dean would have put it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He stopped by Luke's room and opened the door without knocking, figuring his older brother wasn't in there since there was no noise.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He walked in on Luke rolling something into a little tube. It looked like a. . . leaf?</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Luke?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Lucifer Novak, or 'Luke', jumped about a mile.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Cassie? Jesus, you have to knock," he gasped, looking pale. Castiel frowned, entering the room with his head tilted to the side. His curiosity won out against his instinct to chide his brother for swearing.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "What is that, Luke?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Lucifer grimaced. "Close the door, Cassie. Please?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel frowned, then turned and closed the door. "What is it, Luke?” he repeated.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Lucifer sighed, caught in the act. "It's a joint, okay?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "A what?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Lucifer groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "It's something people smoke. You light the end on fire and breathe the smoke in so that you get. . . I don't know, happier," he explained.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Drugs," Castiel summed up, frowning even deeper.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Yes," Lucifer sighed, admitting it. "Just. . . <em>please</em> don't tell Mother and Father, okay?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Lucifer, Mother says that's a sin-"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "I'm going to sell it, Cassie. I won't smoke it, promise," Lucifer replied, looking pleadingly at Castiel.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     The younger boy frowned at him for a moment longer. Then his face cleared. "Fine. But I need some candy. I have to get some art supplies from Gabriel for a project at school."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Lucifer relaxed at his words. "Sure, Cassie. Give me a second, okay?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He finished rolling up the leaf, his quick and sure movements telling Castiel that he had probably done it many times. He wondered how long his older brother had been hiding this.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     They learned about drugs at school, and Castiel was fairly sure that was marijuana. He wondered, briefly, what it felt like to be 'happy' after smoking it, then felt ashamed for even thinking such a thing.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Lucifer hid the joint in his desk, then got down on his hands and knees and dug around underneath the bed. He came up with a familiar white box.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel came forward and opened his backpack, allowing Lucifer to open the box and take out several candy bars and lollipops, shoving them into the pack.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Don't tell anyone, you hear?" Lucifer asked. "Or I'll tell Gabriel about the time you wet your pants at church."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel stuck his tongue out. "Fine."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He zipped up the backpack and put his arms through the loops again.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He decided that he wouldn't tell their parents, even if he was asked about it. There was real fear in Lucifer's eyes, and Castiel had a feeling that there would be serious repercussions if their parents ever found out.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He thanked his older brother and left the room, making sure to close the door behind him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He headed down the hall, stopping and knocking. He had walked in one too many times on a session of nude yoga, and it was something he didn't really want to have in his head again.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "What?" someone called through the door.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Gabriel! I need some art supplies," Castiel shouted back.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     There was a sound, some clinking and shuffling. Then the door opened and Gabriel was staring down at Castiel with a raised eyebrow.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "You got the means to pay for it?" he asked.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel sighed and opened his pack, pulling out a few candy bars. He was careful not to show Gabriel all of his stash. His brother could be greedy sometimes.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Come on in, Cassie," Gabriel said, grinning widely and winking. "I've got just what you need."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel rolled his eyes, something he'd picked up from Dean. He hated when his brothers called him 'Cassie', but if he ever told him that, he'd have absolutely no hope of shaking the nickname.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel realized, as he'd entered, that he'd interrupted his brother in the middle of a painting session. A truly stunning picture of a lake was being spread across the canvas, random colors of paint splattered everywhere.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "What'dya need?" Gabriel asked, unwrapping a red lollipop and sticking it into his mouth.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel rattled off the list, counting on his fingers. Gabriel grabbed all of the supplies, handed them to him, then held out his hand expectantly.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel gave him half of his stash, saving some of it in case he needed something later. Gabriel endlessly surprised him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Thanks, little bro! Now leave me alone, I need to finish this!" Gabriel said, pushing Castiel toward the door. Castiel thanked him as he was being shoved out the door, tripping over the carpet outside in the hall. The door slammed shut, leaving Castiel alone in the hallway.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     With a sigh, Castiel headed to his room. It wasn't anything remarkable, but it was his and he liked it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Carefully setting the art supplies in the corner and stashing the candy underneath his bed, Castiel pulled out his books and sat down in front of the computer his father had bought him for his eleventh birthday.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel opened a new page and glanced at his English notes, already typing out an analysis of the newest book they had been reading.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He paused for a moment and glanced under the bed, frowning.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     After a moment of hesitation, Castiel got up from his desk chair and reached under, pulling a few candy bars out and stuffing them back in his backpack.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He remembered Dean's face the day the teacher had given them all a piece of foil-wrapped chocolate for completely acing their Spanish exam.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Feeling satisfied, Castiel sat back down and finished his essay. It was a little slow going, as his mind kept wandering.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     The thoughts were random, but they all had one thing in common: Castiel couldn't <em>wait</em> to see Dean's face when he handed him the chocolate.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     As Castiel went to bed that night, he couldn't help but smile a little to himself.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean was going to love it.</p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I find Gabriel endlessly funny, and I'm one of those people who likes Lucifer. Sorry, not sorry! XD</p><p>Thank you for reading, it was great to see some of you again, and great to meet the rest. I always enjoy reading your comments, you people are so sweet. ;)</p><p>See you in three days!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey, everyone! Good to see you again. ;)</p><p>I have to give a trigger warning for this chapter: there is graphic abuse and John being an asshole. Please don't read this if it hurts you. :( I love all of you.</p><p>If you're okay, then read onward. I'll warn you, it's dark. Enjoy the chapter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div>
  <p>     <strong>Three</strong></p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     The anniversary of Mary Winchester's death was on a Sunday.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     John Winchester called the school Monday morning, explaining that Dean wouldn't be in that week.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     There was no way the fourteen year-old could go to school looking like he'd been hit by a truck. His ribs ached when he breathed, both his eyes were swollen almost shut, two fingers on his right hand were broken, and his ankle was bruised and aching.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     When John Winchester cried and held him that morning, sobbing that Mary wouldn't have wanted him to do that, that he was sorry, Dean forgave him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     With words, at least. Nothing could really mend the injuries that John had given him the night before, wounds both physical and not.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Still, it gave Dean some much-needed time to recover. The next week, John had to leave for a work trip, meaning that Dean and Sam had four days to themselves.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean invited Castiel over, apologizing profusely for not being able to help with the project. Castiel waved it off, saying that it was fine.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     That Monday afternoon, Castiel walked to the elementary school with Dean.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Hey, Dean! Who's that?" Sam asked as he bounded up to them.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Heya, Sammy. This is Cas, he's a friend. We're working on a history project together," Dean replied, ruffling his little brother's hair.     </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "It is a pleasure to meet you, Sam Winchester," Castiel said, holding out his hand.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Sam shot Dean a look, but he shook Castiel's hand politely.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     On the way home, Castiel was relatively silent. The two older boys both listened to Sam's recount of the day, laughing at his story about how two teachers had slammed into each other in the cafeteria and accidentally started a food fight among the students.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     They got home, and Dean felt a warm bubble rise in his chest when Sam's enthusiasm didn't melt away. The keys on the wall were gone, and they would remain that way for three more days.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Sam bounced off to his room, saying he had to finish homework.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean grinned at Castiel as he placed the neatly rolled up poster paper on the scarred dining room table. "He's pretty energetic."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "I'd noticed," Castiel said, smiling softly. "He seems like a nice boy."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "He is," Dean replied.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They both stared at the battered door that led to the bedroom the Winchester boys shared for a moment, then glanced back at the rolled up map.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Oh, before we get started, I brought you something,” Castiel said, smiling brightly. Dean grinned, that warm feeling in his chest expanding at the sight of Castiel’s perfect, white smile.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “You what?” he asked, because he’d kind of been too busy staring at Castiel to listen.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The other boy laughed. “I brought you something. Here,” he said, holding it out.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean’s eyes widened at the bar of chocolate in Castiel’s hand. It looked like it was expensive, better quality than the little Snickers Dean sometimes ‘borrowed’ from the store to give to Sammy.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Wow,” Dean murmured. “Thanks, Cas. But. . . I don’t have anything for you.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel waved the words away, setting the chocolate down on the edge of the table. “That doesn’t matter. You’re giving me a place to stay after school. I dislike being around my family too much.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean silently agreed. From what he’d heard of the Novaks, and from the cold interaction he’d had with their driver when he’d spoken to him once, he could guess they weren’t the friendliest of people.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    There was a bit of an awkward pause. Then Castiel clapped his hands together. “Alright, let’s get started.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean helped Castiel weight the corners of the poster so it didn't roll up, then stepped back to marvel at the perfectly drawn outline of the United States.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Wow, Cas. That's. . . incredible," Dean commented.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel flushed a little, smiling bashfully. "Thank you, Dean."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean blinked, grinning like a fool. Castiel was adorable when he blushed. "Sure. Here, I made a list of all the states and their capitals," Dean said, holding out the list proudly. It had taken him several hours of research the night before, but he’d finished in time for their study session.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Thank you, Dean, but I've memorized them," Castiel said, stopping Dean short. "I don't need a list."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Oh," Dean said, face falling a little. "Right. Okay."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He crumpled the list, tossing it in the trash. His movements felt heavy. He’d been hoping to contribute <em>something</em> to this project, but it just highlighted how way-ahead-of-Dean Castiel was.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel blinked at the reaction, realizing he'd offended Dean.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He turned and walked over to the trash can, pulling out the crumpled list. With infinite care, he unfolded it and smoothed it out, smiling a little.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "I. . . I forget things from time to time. It will be helpful to have a list on hand," he said quietly, smiling that shy smile at Dean.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean hesitated, then brightened, glad that he was helping in some way. He hated to feel like he was just leeching off of Castiel, getting an easy grade because of how smart the other boy was. Dean beamed at him. "Okay.” He sort of knew that Castiel was lying, because henever forgot anything. He knew that Castiel was just trying to make him feel better.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     And he didn't care. The warm bubble in his chest was expanding again with every second he spent around this boy, and Dean never wanted it to go away.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Come on," he said, grinning like a fool. "Let's figure out how many times it takes us to spell Appalachian right."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     As they worked through the afternoon, they talked. Dean cracked up listening to Castiel's stories about his brothers. He thought Gabriel was hilarious, and Luke sounded straight-up cool.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel had to leave at four-thirty. Dean walked him to the school, where he was picked up by his family's driver in the posh silver car they owned.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     They had agreed to leave the poster at Dean's house. Dean would finish the rivers that night. He promised Castiel he would double-check the spelling and go over everything in pencil first.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     When Castiel left, Dean's warm bubble dissipated slightly. He was still beaming, though, when he entered the house and went back to the poster.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean worked hard on the rivers, measuring each length meticulously. He triple-checked the spelling, ran over everything in pencil, fact-checked everything with Castiel's notes.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He was pretty proud of himself when he finished. He took a picture with the crappy phone John had found in the garage in a box, then sent it to Castiel.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     The boy responded soon after with a thumbs up and a <em>That looks amazing, Dean!</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean grinned at the text, that warm feeling returning.     </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He felt so great, he started on the mountains. They looked good too, but he refrained from sending a picture to Castiel, though he wanted to. He planned on surprising his friend when he came over again tomorrow.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     That night, Dean was in the best mood he'd been in in years. He cooked a fancy dinner of spaghetti and leftover chicken, whistling and singing loudly in that way that annoyed Sam.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     When he fell asleep that night, he was still smiling.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Of course, like all good things in Dean Winchester's life, the happiness only lasted for a little while longer.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     John texted him halfway through the session the next day.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean stared down at the screen of his phone for a moment, face pale. Castiel didn't notice, too busy flaring the lines of the compass rose he'd drawn with black marker.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Cas, you gotta go," Dean said suddenly.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel frowned, straightening and looking back at Dean. "I just got here."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "I know, but you have to leave," Dean said, hoping Castiel wouldn't ask why.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     It was a ridiculous hope. "Why?" Castiel asked, sounding confused and vaguely hurt.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "My-My dad is coming home," Dean replied, feeling shaky and off-balance.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel's eyes widened a little with understanding. "I thought he was gone until-"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "It doesn't matter, he's coming. You need to leave, <em>please</em>," Dean begged.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel hesitated for a moment, then nodded. He began to roll up the poster, but Dean shoved him in the direction of his backpack, panic flooding him. If his father was returning so early, something must have gone wrong. Castiel <em>could not</em> be here when it did.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Go, go. Just go! Hurry, I don't know when he's going to be back," Dean said, frantically stuffing Castiel's books into his backpack for him as he laced up his shoes. For once, Castiel didn't comment at the disarray in which Dean was packing up his stuff.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Dean, I'll call you later-"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "No, don't. I'll just. . . I'll see you tomorrow, alright? I'm sorry," Dean said, shoving Castiel toward the door.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "What if you're not there?" Castiel asked, looking Dean dead in the eyes.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean swallowed thickly. "Then I'll text you. Promise."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel paused for a moment, his brain working behind those bright blue eyes. Then he nodded once. "Stay safe, Dean," he murmured as he opened the door.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean nodded, frantically checking up and down the street. The familiar black car his father drove wasn't in sight.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean was so busy shoving Castiel out the door, he didn't notice when he murmured a goodbye. When Dean glanced back at the sidewalk after checking for John, Castiel was already walking toward the school, backpack slung over his shoulders.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean felt guilty for a split second, but that was overridden by panic. He turned and sprinted back into the house, crashing through the door and into the room he shared with Sam.     </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Dean, what the-"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Dad's coming home," Dean said.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Sam's face paled. "When?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Now," Dean replied, running a hand through his hair. "You stay in here, you hear me? I don't care what you hear. You <em>stay</em>."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Sam hesitated, then nodded. "Okay."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean didn't have the time to wring a promise from him. He raced back into the kitchen and swallowed thickly at the pile of dishes in the sink, at the project still spread across the table.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He rushed to do the dishes, barely blinking an eye when he accidentally broke a glass trying to shove it onto the drainboard.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He was just wiping down the counters when the rumble of a familiar engine sounded.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean looked back at the table and felt his heart drop to his stomach. The project was still spread across the scratched, scarred table, colors beautiful and carefully drawn in.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean hurried to pack all of Castiel's special pens away, stuffing them into a random cabinet to hide them. He was in the act of rolling up the poster when the door slammed open.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     John Winchester entered, very loud, very sober, and very, very angry.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "What the fuck is that?" he asked quietly, voice soft and dangerous. He’d paused, his body a menacing figure in the doorway.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean fought back the hot tears of panic that rose in his eyes. "A p-project for school, sir," he breathed.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "'A p-p-project for school, s-s-sir'," John mocked. He stomped into the house, letting the door slam shut behind him. "Stop your stuttering, you pathetic bitch."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He ripped the poster from Dean's hands, unrolling it roughly and crinkling the paper that Castiel had been so careful to keep nice.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean fought back the protesting cry rising in his throat, knowing he had to be very careful if he didn't want to end up in the hospital. Hospitals were expensive.     </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     John glared at the beautiful map spread across the paper for a moment. Then he curled his lip into a sneer and looked down at Dean, eyes dark and cruel. "You didn't make this, you little shit."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "I did," Dean choked out, panic rising in his throat. If his father found out about Castiel, he'd be dead.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "No, you didn't. This isn't your handwriting. You couldn't have made this," John said, crumpling the poster in his fist. "It's too well-made. You're too much of a fuck-up to make something this perfect."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Please, sir, I-"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "You probably stole this, didn't you? You stole it from a boy who gets good grades, from someone with actual talent," John growled.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean bit back his response. He got straight As in everything except math, which he got Bs in. Not that John Winchester cared.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "No, sir, I-"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     John cut him off with a look, then turned his cold, cruel gaze back to the now-crumpled poster. "I won't tolerate having a lying, stealing cheat as a son," he hissed.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He reached to the top of the paper and tore the poster in half.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "NO!" Dean cried, lunging forward. John kicked him away, laughing cruelly as he tore the paper again, ripping it into fourths.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "You pathetic whore. You think I'll let you get away with cheating? You think I'll let you lie and steal?" John shouted, spittle flying from his lips.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He tore the poster, again and again and again. Dean choked on his breath, a sob rising in his throat. All that work, all that research and careful measuring and fact-checking. . . All for nothing.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     God, Castiel would be so angry.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     That thought was what really did it. The tears spilled over, slipping down Dean's cheeks. He released the sob that had been building, shaking his head as he watched the beautifully colored map fall to the floor in pieces.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Are you crying?" John asked, dangerously quiet. His voice rose to a shout with his next words. "Are you crying, you pathetic bitch? Are you crying? Men don't cry, Dean!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He stepped forward and struck Dean across the face, so hard that the boy stumbled and fell.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     John started to kick Dean, shouting profanities and insults. Dean choked on his breath, unable to get air into his lungs. He could barely hear John over the roaring of blood in his ears, the sounds his chest made when the air got punched out of it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     The sharp pain dulled to something numb and faraway, John's voice hollowing to a ringing, tinny shout. Dean curled in on himself, pain firing from all directions, eyes shutting as he forced himself to float up and away.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     After a period of time, which could have been three minutes or three hours, Dean came back to himself.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He was lying on the ground, spitting up blood every now and then. John had kicked his head at some point and Dean had bitten his tongue hard. The liquid was filling up his mouth, salty-sweet and sour.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean spat out a mouthful of blood and struggled to push himself to a sitting position, whimpering softly. His entire body ached, feeling as if he'd been submerged in boiling water.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     The clinking of bottles sounded in the kitchen. John was on his way to being blackout drunk already.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean dragged himself over to the scattered pieces of the map he and Castiel had nearly finished. His fingers caught the piece that read <em>Created by Castiel Novak and Dean Winchester</em> in Castiel's careful, neat handwriting.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean's fingers bled onto the paper, crimson staining the white and spreading like ink in the water. It covered the bottom half of the 'C' in Castiel's name, outlining the black pen in red.   </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean stared at it for a moment, feeling weak and light-headed.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He gathered the pieces into a careful pile, tucking it almost lovingly into the pocket of his jeans.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Then he forced himself to stand, though it made him feel light-headed. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     <em>Oh, God. I'm gonna pass out</em>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean clutched the edge of the very table where he'd made the poster with Castiel, fighting against the blackness that curled at the edges of his vision.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     When he felt like he'd returned to his body sufficiently, Dean staggered around the table and grabbed his phone. He didn't really know what he was doing, why he was doing it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     But he found Castiel number and pressed the 'call' button, closing his eyes as he begged whoever might be listening that Castiel would answer.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     <em>What am I going to say, what will I tell him, how will he handle it, will he be mad, what do I say, what do I say, what do I say-</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Dean?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel's voice crackled to life on the other line.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean sobbed softly in relief. "Cas," he choked out. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Dean? Dean, are you alright?" Castiel asked. He sounded worried, panicked. Dean felt a flash of guilt at being the reason for that.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Cas," he said again, and he didn't know what to say after. His tongue was too swollen, his brain too scrambled, his body too numb. So he forced out the only three words he knew would save him. "I need you."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     There was a silence at the other end of the line.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean's heart sank as he realized what he'd said. He couldn't see Cas, not now! He had ruined their poster, had ruined their project, had ruined <em>everything</em>-</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Then, like an answered prayer, Castiel's voice crackled to life on the other end of the line.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Go to the corner of your street. Wait for me."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "W-What?" Dean asked, not understanding. It was as if his mind had disconnected, as if somewhere between his ears and his brain something had gotten lost.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel's voice was gentler than Dean had ever heard it when he spoke again. "Go to the corner of your street, the one closest to the school, and wait for me. I'm coming to get you."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean blinked, not understanding. Everything felt fuzzy, unreal.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     But. . . But he knew what those words meant. Knew what would happen after.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel was coming. He was going to make it all better, going to distract Dean from the fire and aching and throbbing all over his body with his bright eyes and gummy smile.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     So Dean nodded his head. Then, realizing Castiel couldn't see him, he choked out a single word.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Okay."</p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>:( Poor Dean. Hopefully Castiel will make it better.</p><p>Thank you for reading and commenting and kudos. . . ing. Kudosing? That's not a word, but that's okay. XD</p><p>I'll see you all in three days. Have a great day/night!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello, everyone. Long time, no see. :)</p><p>I'm posting this at three in the morning. It's fun. I'm not sure how to feel about this one, but it's certainly important. </p><p>Warnings for heavy themes of child abuse and mentions of alcoholism. Though, if you've ever read my fics before, that can be the lightest thing the chapter sometimes.</p><p>Enjoy.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p></p><div>
  <p>     <strong>Four</strong></p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel cursed softly. He didn't even feel guilty about it. "Shit." Then, because the situation called for it and he didn't particularly care if he was sinning or not right now, he said it again. "Shit."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel gripped the phone in his hands, eyes shut tight.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean had called. Dean <em>needed </em>him. Something had happened. Something bad.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     What was he going to <em>do</em>-</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He remembered. He'd told Dean to leave. To go to the corner of his street and wait.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He had to get there. He couldn't just leave Dean. He’d promised he’d meet him there.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel's body moved before his mind could. He grabbed his books and dumped them on his bed, emptying most of his backpack. He grabbed a spare blanket and shoved it in, then left his room. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He walked on autopilot to the bathroom, his body numb, his mind seemingly disconnected.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He raided the cabinets and found a First Aid Kit, then pulled out several towels. He stuffed them all in his backpack.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     As Castiel was leaving the bathroom, his rational brain came back online.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     <em>You idiot! How are you even going to get over there? Dean lives across town! </em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel stopped in the middle of the hallway, fear rising as he realized how impossible this whole situation was. He had no way to get across Lawrence to Dean. He had no idea how to drive, the buses didn’t run this late, and he couldn’t <em>walk</em>. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Just as he was beginning to really panic, he heard a voice call out. "Cassie! What are you doing? Why do you have your backpack on?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel turned. When his eyes landed on his older brother, a plan instantly began to form in his mind.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Luke, I need your help," he said.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Lucifer frowned, walking forward and coming to a stop in front of Castiel. "With what? What's going on? You're super pale, Cassie, are you-"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "My friend is in trouble," Castiel blurted. "I need a ride."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Castiel, we have dinner in five minutes," Lucifer reminded him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel's heart sank.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dinner in the Novak household was mandatory. If they didn't have homework, the Novak children were expected to appear at dinner and 'socialize with the family'. It was always a stiff, awkward time, and with the way their parents droned on an on about the comings and goings of the people in their social circles as they ate every night, it usually took hours.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "I can't," Castiel said. Then, before he really knew what he was saying, he continued, "I'll tell Mother I have homework."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Lucifer stared at him for a moment, eyes comically wide. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel knew what he was thinking. He never broke the rules. He never lied. He never did anything he knew would get him in trouble with his parents. Most of the time, at least.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     But now. . . Now he was proposing they lie to their parents, skip something that they were required to go to every single night, and sneak out of the house.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel looked pleadingly at his older brother. Lucifer stared back, ice eyes calculating. After a moment, something seemed to shift on his face. "What will I tell them?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Tell them you have another mandatory meeting for seniors," Castiel replied, feeling relief and hope trickle through the high whine of panic in his head. "It always works when you sneak out to sell drugs."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Lucifer's face contorted and he glanced around furtively. "Shh! You can't just <em>say</em> things like that, Cassie!" he hissed.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel knew what he was going to say a second before it emerged from his mouth. "I could."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     They both blinked, surprised at the threat in his voice. Castiel wasn't sure who was more shocked: him, or Lucifer.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     After a moment, Lucifer sighed. "Fine. Give me his address."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Relief flooded Castiel, overpowering the guilt and shame that had been rising when he thought of all the sins he'd just committed and all the rules he'd just broken.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He didn't voice any of that, though. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He told Lucifer where Dean lived.</p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Your friend lives in a dump," Lucifer commented exactly fourteen minutes and thirty-two seconds later.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Fuck you," Castiel replied.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He jumped a little, shocked at the words that had just emerged from his mouth. He'd learned to curse from Lucifer and Gabriel from a young age, but Dean had taught him the delicate art of actually using the words in a sentence.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Still, he couldn't believe he'd just cussed out his older brother. He momentarily thanked God that it was Lucifer and not Michael.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Wow," Lucifer muttered, sounding as surprised as Castiel felt. He turned onto a familiar street. "Here we are."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Stop the car," Castiel ordered.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Lucifer stopped.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel pulled open the door, realizing faintly that he hadn't even been wearing his seatbelt.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He got out and slammed the door shut, heading toward the street corner as fast as he could. He ran, his legs pumping hard, throat aching with the chill of the night air.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     For a moment, Castiel was sure that Dean wasn’t even there.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Then he spotted the figure hunched over in a ball at the street corner, curled against the lamppost. The bulb in it was dead, so it was nearly impossible to see Dean in the shadows.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     But he was there.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel ran and fell to his knees next to Dean, not caring that he barked his shins on the cold cement. "Dean," he breathed.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Cas?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean's voice was thick, and Castiel imagined that his tongue might be swollen. He grabbed Dean's face in his hands, something in the back of his mind reminding him to be gentle.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Dean, my God," he breathed.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean blinked sluggishly at him. "Waited for you," he rasped. Castiel watched, heart breaking a little as tears welled up in Dean's green eyes, swollen and already bruising. "God, Cas. I ruined it. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel frowned. "What?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "I ruined it," Dean choked out, his breath sounding suspiciously like a sob. The tears spilled over, slipping silently down his bruised face. "I ruined the poster. God, Cas, I'm so sorry. Please, p-please don't be mad."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel frowned, confused. He felt Dean shove something into his lap, and he looked down.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     His heart sank.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Oh, Dean."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Their poster, the one they had worked so hard on, had been torn to pieces. There were places where bloody fingers had tried to piece it together, as if the pieces would somehow magically meld back into a whole. There was no doubt who had torn it apart.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel took his hands from Dean's face and picked up the messy pile of paper scraps, then looked back up at where Dean had shut his eyes, cringing away as if he expected Castiel to hit him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel tossed the pieces to the side and threw his arms around Dean's shoulders, pulling him close to his body as a sob tore through him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean choked a little, breath catching on his own sob.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel closed his eyes, squeezing Dean as tight as he dared. He didn't know what he was doing, didn't know why he was holding Dean so close. All he knew was that he needed to shelter him, to shield him from the cold of the night and the cruelty of the world.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Soft footsteps sounded behind them, and Castiel tensed. At least, until his backpack was placed gently on the ground beside them.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Lucifer didn't say anything, just sat down on the edge of the curb a few feet away, staring silently out at the night sky.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel would thank him later.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He pulled away from Dean slightly, though his friend clung to him. Castiel realized he had been murmuring quietly, whispering comforting words to his friend. He opened his backpack and wrapped the blanket tightly around Dean's shoulders.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     When he pulled out the First Aid Kit, Dean shook his head. "No," he rasped, breath still hitching. "He'll figure it out."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "You're bleeding, Dean," Castiel said quietly. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "I'll f-fix it later," Dean choked out. "I'll fix it."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel didn't push the subject, just wrapped his arms around his friend and held him tight.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean babbled a little, still clutching tight to Castiel's shirt. "S-Sam is in his room. Dad's p-passed out, he won't hurt Sam. He won't hurt Sam," Dean repeated. "He w-won't hurt Sam. He <em>won't</em>, he-"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Shh, I know," Castiel soothed. He swallowed past the tightness of his throat, the tears slipping from his eyes. "You made sure he's safe."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean nodded, sobbing. He sounded more relieved than hurt, for which Castiel was grateful. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel swallowed thickly, realizing that they needed to have this conversation <em>now</em> and not later. Dean wouldn’t be so agreeable later.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Dean, we need to call the police,” Castiel said.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    No sooner was the word ‘call’ out of his mouth before Dean was shaking his head. “C-Can’t, Cas,” he breathed. “Can’t.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Why?” Castiel asked, feeling desperate.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean shook his head again. “C-Can’t. They’ll send us away, they’ll take S-Sammy from me. I c-can take it. I can take it.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel closed his eyes and shook his head, his chest twisting with more pain than he’d ever imagined could be real. How could something unseen hurt so badly?</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Okay, Dean,” Castiel whispered. “Okay.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He knew they’d have this conversation later, knew that this was probably only the start of a long string of such arguments. But he was willing to let it go, if only to soothe Dean down for a moment.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     The hours passed. Dean eventually calmed, sobs turning to sniffles and then to quiet, even breathing. He soon fell asleep, exhausted, curled against Castiel's body.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     After a while, Lucifer stood, still silent. He knelt down beside Castiel, gently taking Dean into his arms. Castiel was too exhausted and drained to protest, simply following his older brother as he carried Dean to the car, still wrapped in a blanket.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel opened the back door and climbed in, pulling Dean against his body again when Lucifer set him down gently in the back seat. He closed the door softly behind him, then climbed into the driver's seat.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel didn't even have to speak. Lucifer pulled out his phone, the glow of the screen lighting the dark car.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel could read the texts, could see that Lucifer had told their mother that he wouldn't be back until late, lying that the meeting had run long. He could see that he had texted Gabriel, telling him to keep their mother away from Castiel's room for the night.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He fell asleep, head resting against Dean's, profoundly grateful for his brother.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel was woken in the early hours of the morning. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean was tense in his arms, and Castiel knew he had woken up.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He shifted, allowing Dean to scoot away. Lucifer had stretched out across the front seat, a blanket draped over him. They were still parked underneath the broken street lamp.     </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel quietly opened the car door, allowing Dean to exit. He closed it after them both, breath puffing white in the cold morning.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     The sky was clear, the sun just beginning to turn the east gray.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean was standing outside the car, eyes on the sunrise, not speaking.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     As the sun rose, the sky lightening, Castiel could see that he looked awful. There were bruises all over his face and arms, and his lip was puffy and cut open.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     His green eyes looked shattered, haunted, the light of the sunrise reflecting in them.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel didn't say anything, knowing that no matter how painful the silence was, words would be a thousand times more so.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He didn't speak. He didn't move. He didn't touch Dean.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He just stood next to him, close enough for his heat to radiate onto Dean's body, but not close enough to make contact. Enough to remind his friend that he was there.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Silently, the two boys watched the sun rise. It stained the sky pink and orange and blood red, slowly illuminating the world with golden light.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel turned his head and saw the dawn reflected in Dean's eyes. They were beautiful, he realized. Green with flecks of gold around the edges of the pupil, bright with pain and memories.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean's eyes flicked to his, and eyes like the center of the summer sky stared into ones the color of sunlight through ivy.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Dean, I won't ever judge you," Castiel said quietly. "I hope you know that."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Silence.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Sunrise.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Golden light.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Breathing. They were both breathing, both alive, and Castiel was so profoundly glad.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Green eyes.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Then, a cracked, broken voice.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Thank you, Cas."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel nodded, turning back to the dawn, understanding that those three words meant so much more than a thanks for the understanding.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean stayed for as long as he could. Castiel understood that too, understood the mental walls that were beginning to rise, understood that what had happened the night before would change them forever.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He understood, and he accepted it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     So he didn't comment as Dean turned and left. Didn't look back and watch when Dean walked down the street, going back to his broken home and sleeping brother and drunk father.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel wiped the single tear that had slipped down from his eye, opened the car door, and climbed in.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Lucifer was already awake, staring out at the dawn.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Wordlessly, he inserted his keys in the ignition. The car rumbled to life. Castiel shut the door.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Though it was silent, Castiel could feel the oceans of words between them. Could feel the questions that would never be asked, the comforting words that would never be spoken, the world he'd lived in that would never be the same.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     All of that, all of it filled the space between them, so loud though the air was silent.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     The brothers drove off underneath the rising sun.</p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>:) What did you think?</p><p>I enjoy writing from Castiel's perspective. I find him to be an interesting character.</p><p>Thank you so much for reading. ;) I hope you're all having a wonderful night/day/afternoon. See you in three days!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello, everyone! How are you all doing today?</p>
<p>Looong chapter for you. This one is sweet, and I think you'll find the developments at the end to be interesting. ;) I hope you like it!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div>
  <p>     <strong>Five</strong></p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel made a new poster.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     It wasn't as beautiful or perfect as their other one, but it was still enough to get him 105% on the project.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean too. Castiel had written his name in on the back, in the bottom left corner. It was almost identical to the shred of paper that had been stained crimson by Dean's blood.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     <em>Created by Castiel Novak and Dean Winchester.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean felt sick when he saw it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     They didn't talk about what had happened that night. They didn't talk about the fact that Dean didn't come to school for an entire week. They didn't talk about how the first two fingers on his right hand were now permanently bent, just a little, or how Dean limped for months afterward.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     They didn't talk about any of it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Winter melted into spring, and then into summer. Football season changed to wrestling season, then morphed into track. Castiel joined the track team, a sprinter and a pole vaulter, much to Dean's delight.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean was already making a name for himself. He was famous for being the only freshman with two letters on his varsity jacket already. He wore the jacket with pride.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     With the popularity came other friends, and with other friends came speculation.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     “Dean, man, I know you're friends with that Castiel dude," a sophomore jock said during track practice one day, when Castiel was with the sprinters and not around the other pole vaulters.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     The jock, Azazel, pronounced Castiel's name 'Casteel'.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Yeah, I'm friends with him," Dean said, checking his grip on the pole. He had tensed a little, knowing all too well other people's opinions of Cas.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel, frankly, didn't give a fuck, but Dean did. He hated hearing people badmouth his friend.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Well, why?" Azazel asked. "He's kind of a weirdo."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "And?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Don't you have better people to spend time with?" Azazel asked.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Like you?" Dean asked, voice carefully neutral.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Well, yeah. I mean, other people, you know? You only sit with him at lunch and in our classes, no one else. You could be hangin' with the cool crowd, you feel me?" another boy asked, chiming in.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean bared his teeth at the boy, a reedy freshman who was as skinny as he was tall. Azazel’s little brother, his mind supplied. Alastair.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "You can go fuck yourself," he growled. "Both of you."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     The other freshman backed down, but Azazel raised his eyebrows. "Damn. You got a bone to pick, freshman?" he asked.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean knew it was a warning. A threat, telling him to back the fuck down.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He didn't.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "No. Do you?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Nope. I just don't like disrespect, is all."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "I wasn't disrespecting you," Dean said, in a tone that implied that he very much was.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Azazel bared his teeth at Dean in a disgusting mockery of a smile. "Really? What if I told you that Novak is a fucking queer?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean threw down his pole, the flexible plastic rod bouncing on the turf field. He stepped forward and smashed his fist into Azazel's face.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He could feel the satisfying crunch of bone and cartilage underneath his fist, though it hurt far more than punching that dummy his father'd had him and Sam train on when they were younger.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Someone whooped, cheering him on. Dean kneed Azazel in the chest when the sophomore doubled over from the punch, then grabbed him by the shoulders and threw him to the turf. He was howling in pain, but Dean barely heard it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     His heart was pounding, blood rushing through his veins. He could sense everything, his body coming alive with adrenaline. He was <em>singing</em> with it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Someone grabbed Dean from behind, and he ducked out from their hold as smoothly as his father had taught him. If there was one good thing about John Winchester, it was that he'd taught his sons to fight from an early age.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     There were two, Dean realized as he turned to face his attackers.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He ducked the first punch and rammed his fist into the boy's gut.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He choked out a breath as the wind was knocked out of him, but Dean barely had time to realize that it was another sophomore before another punch was coming his way.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He dodged that one too, then swung his fist as hard as he could.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     It passed through empty air. Someone grabbed his arm before he could recover, jerking him forward.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean twisted his arm, locking it around the other boy's and curled forward. The force of his movement sent the other boy flipping head over heels, his body pounding to the turf.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     There were people shouting, some in excitement, some in anger, some in fear.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Hands grabbed Dean, and he barely had enough mind to realize they weren't trying to hurt him. He turned, eyes wild, chest heaving, and found himself staring right at Castiel Novak.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "What the fuck are you doing, Dean?" he shouted, panic written across his face. There were coaches sprinting across the field behind him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean curled his hands into fists, rage still coursing through his body. He wanted to straddle Azazel's chest and pound his face in.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "They called you a queer," he growled. "They-"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He cut off as the crowd screamed excitedly. Castiel's eyes widened, and Dean realized what was about to happen a second before it did.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Something crashed down onto him, and the next thing Dean knew, there was fiery pain racing through his head. The boy on his back was pounding his face into the turf, blood mixing with the little black pieces of rubber, staining the white lines of the football sideline.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     The last thing that registered was the coaches shouting.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Then everything went dark.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     When Dean woke next, he was in the hospital, Castiel by his bed.     </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     They had their very first real argument. Castiel had gotten into enormous trouble with his mother because he'd tackled the boy on Dean's back and started punching him with wild abandon, breaking his nose and giving him two black eyes. The teachers had been furious and had suspended all of them for ten days.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     That was fine. Dean was too busy worrying about the hospital bill to even care about what John Winchester would say when he got back, especially since he had recently lost his job. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Luckily, Dean had turned fifteen that winter, and he was allowed to get an underage permit to work. He managed to snag two jobs to pay off the ambulance ride and hospital bill, though he couldn't move for two weeks after the beating he received when he got home.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     That wasn't so bad as the silent treatment Castiel gave him for three weeks after that. He'd never been suspended from school, had never even gotten into a fight.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He blamed Dean at first, but of course, his bleeding heart wouldn't allow him to be angry at him for long.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean got a call from him about three weeks after the initial fight, apologizing for being an ass and wishing him a late happy birthday. Castiel had forgotten that Dean's birthday was in January, not April, but at least he got the day right.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     When Dean returned to school, he found a sheepish Castiel next to his locker. When he opened it, he found streamers and a small pie at the bottom.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Dude, you realize that's what girls do, right?" Dean asked Castiel.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "I thought you might enjoy the sentiment," Castiel said honestly.     </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean stared at him for a moment, then grinned. "Yeah, I do. Thanks, man."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He took the pie and they shared it at lunch, despite Castiel claiming that he didn't enjoy sweets as much as Dean. It pie was delicious.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Dean, we need to talk about what happened," Castiel said once they'd finished.     </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "We really don't," Dean replied.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel sighed. "I don't need you to protect me."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "I was defending you, Cas. Obviously, you can protect yourself," Dean said, winking at the reference to Castiel's apparently savage attack on the boy who'd slammed Dean's head into the turf.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel didn't react, just gave Dean that same deadpan look. "I don't want you to get into a fight just because someone says something bad about me," he said. His voice quieted slightly as he spoke again. "Trust me, I know what they say."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Fine," Dean gritted out, but some of his annoyance and fire had faded. "But if they ever harass you with more than words, I'm going to throw hands."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel rolled his eyes, an annoying habit he claimed he had picked up from Dean. "I would prefer if you didn't do that either, but I know I cannot stop it."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean winked. "That's right, Cas."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel rolled his eyes again and turned back to the physics book he had been reading. He'd lent it to Dean once. Dean had lasted half a day before he'd returned it, claiming that he would rather beat his face in with it than read it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     They finished the year as friends, parting on the last day of school with the promise that they'd contact each other over the summer.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean escorted Castiel to the silver Tesla that he had come to recognize as familiar. He was wearing his varsity jacket, three lines stitched into the large letter on the left chest area. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Finally finished with our first year of the big boy school, Cas," Dean said, smiling at him. "Feels good."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel smiled back. He had taken to smiling brighter and more often, and Dean was glad. He secretly loved Castiel's smile.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     The sun was shining on the last day of school, the sky clear and beautiful, the same color as the depths of Castiel's eyes. Dean tried not to stare too long as he shook his friend's hand and pulled him into a one-armed hug.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "See you soon, Dean," Castiel said.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "See you soon, Cas," Dean replied, winking. Castiel chuckled and patted him on the shoulder, then turned and headed for his car.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean watched him go, waving as the car pulled around in the parking lot and waited in line at the intersection.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     When Castiel was out of view, Dean hesitated before turning to go.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     There was a strange ache in his chest, and Dean realized he already missed his friend.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     The summer before their sophomore year was hot. Dean and Sam spent most of the time outside, down at the creek that ran past their house a mile south.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     It only took one phone call, some twisting of the truth, and a new bike for Castiel to join them. He had started lying more to his parents, something he told Dean he was strangely okay with.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Dude, that's like, normal. It's literally a staple of being a teenager," Dean told him when they were sunning by the creek, stripped down to their boxers. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel was pale, and it had become Dean's personal mission to make sure that he got a tan before the summer was over.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Dude, you can't get girls looking like a second moon," he'd told Castiel, ignoring a strange twist in his chest when he said it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel had replied that he didn't really want girls, and Dean had waved him off, saying that he'd change his mind once he'd found the right one.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     So they spent as much of their time as they could out by the creek, leaping into the cool water when it got too hot, sunning and talking whenever they could. Sam came and went, playing with some friends his own age and generally keeping out of the way.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     That was fine. It was good for the kid to taste some independence anyway.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean still worked two jobs, though he knew it would probably stack to three soon.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     John Winchester, after being fired from his last job, hadn't gotten a new one. He claimed he was looking, but Dean knew that was a lie. He was currently the only source of income in the family, besides the occasional odd job that paid John enough for them to eat for a week or two.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     It was never sustainable, and John was even considering moving towns because of how his reputation was beginning to precede him whenever he stepped into a job interview.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean quietly dreaded that, hoping that they could stay. He loved this town, loved the friends he'd made. He wanted Sam to be able to stick with the friends he'd made too.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     The truth was, this was the first school they'd stayed in for longer than a semester. Dean had actually argued with John the last time his father had mentioned moving states.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     It had earned him a savage beating, but it had also earned them points for staying for at least another year. Not to mention the fact that they barely had enough to get by, let alone move to a whole other state. Besides, the cost of living was the lowest here, in Lawrence, Kansas.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     So it was decided that they would stay, at least until John got another job and saved enough to move them.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Which, they all knew, wasn't going to happen.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     For the moment, the Winchesters were safe.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     That summer was a turning point for Dean and Castiel both. They got way too much sun, tanning to a dark gold by the end of August.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     They also tried to smoke a joint with Lucifer, which ended in both of them coughing and choking. "You have to hold the smoke longer," the second-oldest Novak had explained, amused, but Castiel and Dean had had enough. They thanked him and went to the convenience store, where they bought ice cream and ate that by the creek instead.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     And okay, maybe they were <em>slightly</em> buzzed, high on sugar and heat and the slight effect of the marijuana they'd inhaled.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     They ended up shoving each other into the creek and nearly drowning, laughing and shouting until Castiel had had to go at sunset.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     That was always the routine. When the sun rose, Dean would make breakfast, work a shift at the local convenience store, then race Sam to the creek at noon. He'd spend the day with Castiel until the sun went down, then take a nighttime shift at the gas station until midnight. He'd race home in time to take a shower and collapse into bed, exhausted but content.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     That was how it went for the entire summer. By the end of it, Dean was significantly tanner and more muscled. His voice was getting deeper, something John commented on in between drunken rages and hangover-fueled naps.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "You're finally becoming a man," John had said. Dean hadn't known what to say to that, so he'd just given his father coffee and some painkillers for his headache and gone to work.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel was changing too. He'd gotten taller, standing at the same height as Dean. His shoulders were broader too, and his skinny body had finally packed on some muscle from wrestling Dean and Sam all summer in the water.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He was tan, too. Probably tanner than Dean, if he wanted to admit it. His voice had deepened to a sinful, gravelly rasp that had the girls who walked past swooning.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean always glared at them, though he didn't know why. He passed it off as protectiveness, figuring that he just didn't want some bitch playing with Castiel's heart and then breaking it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     When they got back to school sophomore year, things definitely changed.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     For one, the girls started noticing Dean.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     As the star runningback of the football team, he was in hot demand with the ladies. Dean got laid for the first time on a Friday night after a particularly impressive football game by a girl named Rhonda Hurley.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     She was a good lay, but she was decidedly strange. She made Dean try on her panties, and he was sure he would take the fact that he had secretly enjoyed wearing them to his grave.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He got his first girlfriend halfway through wrestling season, a nice girl named Lisa Braeden.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Lisa was a good person, but she and Castiel never really seemed to hit it off. She tried to be friends with him, but Castiel always seemed cold and indifferent toward her. It sparked their second big argument, resulting in Castiel not sitting with Dean at lunch or speaking to him for an entire month.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He sat with the swim team, whom he'd made friends with when he'd joined that fall. Dean had gone to one of his meets and had been secretly awed by the smoothness of his strokes, the way his arms swept over the water and his whole body seemed to rock in a wave-like motion.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel claimed, afterward, that it was simply the nature of the butterfly stroke, but Dean wasn't so sure. He secretly thought it was just Castiel.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He never told his friend that.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     When Dean turned sixteen in January, his father gave him a matching set of keys to the Impala. It was the only birthday gift Dean had ever received from John, and it was easily the best one he'd ever gotten.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Of course, until Sam presented him with a box crudely wrapped in aluminum foil. It was a shoe box, but Dean didn't care. He opened it, tilting his head a little as he took in the necklace nestled inside a pile of toilet paper.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "What's this?" he asked.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "I made you a necklace," Sam explained. "I carved it."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean glanced at him, and found his younger brother beaming proudly.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He had carved it out of some sort of lightweight wood, then painted it with the gold paint they had at the local library.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "It's on a black cord, so it won't affect your manliness," Sam joked, though Dean could see the uncertainty in his eyes.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He grinned. "I love it, Sammy. The manliness part is very important. I'm glad you thought of that," he said. The tension flowed out of Sam, and he laughed.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean put the necklace on, silently resolving to never take it off. He loved the thing. It was the perfect length, long enough for him to tuck it under his shirt.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean ruffled Sam's hair. "Thanks, Sammy," he said.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "'Course. Happy birthday, De!" Sam cried, wrapping his arms around Dean's waist. The sixteen year-old laughed and hugged him back, relishing the moment.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     As if on cue, Dean's phone buzzed. He pulled it out of his pocket, smiling down at it as he read the text message. "It's Cas. He's saying he wants to meet me at the creek."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Sam grinned. "You'd better go. Don't worry, I have homework to do."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He shoved Dean toward the door, and the older Winchester went willingly.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He pretended not to know what was going on. He'd accidentally found the ingredients for a pie the day before, hidden in a cabinet in the hallway, right after Sam had made a mystery trip to the store. He hadn't mentioned it to his little brother, figuring it was hidden for a reason. It made sense that Castiel was going to distract him while Sam made the pie.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He found his friend at the creek, grinning at him like a dumbass. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Hey, Cas!" Dean called as he got into hearing distance. Castiel laughed.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Hello, Dean. Is there a reason you're smiling?" he asked.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean snorted. "Not really. Just happy, I guess."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     <em>To see you</em>, he didn't add. He figured that would just make it weird, and he already had a good idea of what they were going to do.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Any reason in particular? I thought you hated Tuesdays," Castiel said.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean's smile faded a little as he realized that his friend didn't know what day it was.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Maybe the whole thing with Sam wasn't a trick. Maybe he was just a self-centered asshole.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Feeling sheepish, Dean tried for a cocky smile. He was pretty sure he missed by a mile, but he'd tried, which was something, right?</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Nah, I was just happy," Dean replied, looking away. A few seconds passed before Castiel started to laugh. Dean blinked in surprise, looking at him in confusion. "What's so funny?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel was still laughing, gravelly voice rasping with mirth. "You," he choked out.     </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "What?" Dean asked, smiling despite himself. There was something about Castiel that just made Dean smile every time, regardless of the circumstances.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Dean Winchester, you really think I would forget about your birthday?" Castiel asked, his face becoming more serious. His eyes were still twinkling, and Dean realized his friend had played a joke on him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Oh," was all he could say. He knew he sounded like a dumbass, but he couldn't find it in himself to care. He was too happy. Castiel hadn't forgotten!</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "I got you something," Castiel said, waving for Dean to follow him. Dean winced.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "No, Cas, you really didn't-"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "If you say I didn't have to, I'll push you into the creek. In the middle of January," Castiel warned, summer blue eyes deadly serious.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean pantomimed zipping his mouth shut, smiling.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel knelt and pulled out a neatly wrapped box from its hiding place behind a tree, a red ribbon tied around it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean flushed. "Cas, really-"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Open it, Dean, or I really will push you in the water," Castiel threatened. He handed Dean the box.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     It was surprisingly heavy, and Dean couldn't possibly imagine what was inside.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He carefully unwrapped the ribbon, stowing it in his pocket.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Then he tore the golden wrapping paper off, smiling despite himself.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean stared at his gift, then promptly flushed bright red. "Cas, I can't-"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "It's a gift, Dean," Castiel interrupted calmly. He smiled a little, that bright, gummy smile that always put Dean at ease. "Happy birthday."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean stared at the Polaroid camera in his hands, throat tight. It was easily worth more than he made in a week, maybe two.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Cas-"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Do you like it?" Castiel asked, pretending not to have heard Dean again.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean opened his mouth, then closed it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel looked so damn <em>hopeful</em>, and there was no way in hell Dean was going to tell him that the gift was way too expensive for him to be comfortable accepting.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean forced a smile, which wasn't too hard, surprisingly.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "I do. Thank you, Cas," he said. He was honest, at least, in that admission. He <em>did</em> love the gift, though he felt awkward and ashamed in keeping it. It was expensive, and it made the jar of homemade honey Dean had given Castiel for his birthday last August seem stupid and cheap.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He didn't say any of that, instead opting to carefully pull open the box.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Do you know how to use it?" Castiel asked, coming closer. He was standing directly beside Dean, so close that he could feel the heat radiating off of Castiel in the cold air.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Uh, not really," Dean replied dumbly, his brain seeming to have disconnected from his body. Castiel's breath puffed white in the air when he chuckled.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Here, let me show you."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He took the box from Dean, long fingers brushing his friend's as he went. Dean nearly frowned at his body's reaction to that, at the way his heart jumped and started doing cartwheels.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     <em>What the fuck?</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean shook his head, focusing on what Castiel was doing. He pulled out the camera, which was matte black and dully gleaming in the January sunlight.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "I got it in a customized color, just for you," Castiel explained. "I figured bubblegum pink wasn't your style."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean snorted, choosing to ignore the voice that whispered that 'customized' meant 'more expensive'. "Good guess."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel put some film into the camera, snapped the catch into place, and raised it. "Say peas," he said.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean burst out laughing, unable to contain himself. His laughter covered up the sound of a click and a shutter. Castiel poked his head around the camera, looking confused. "What is so funny?" he asked, tilting his head in confusion. He was smiling, though, the effects of Dean's uncontrollable laughter rubbing off on him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "It's <em>cheese</em>, Cas, not 'peas'," Dean gasped, wiping tears from his eyes.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel snorted, pulling out a small square from the slot at the bottom of the camera and holding it to the side, where it could expose to the sunlight. "Doesn't matter. It still causes your mouth to shift into the same position as it does when you are calling out the name of the dairy product."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean laughed. "Yeah, but you're still supposed to say 'cheese'."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel rolled his eyes and handed Dean the small square of plastic. "I believe this is evidence that 'peas' is just as effective."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean stared at the photo for a moment, amazed.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Wow, Cas. That's. . . that's really good."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel had captured the perfect picture of him laughing, face scrunched up, eyes crinkled, teeth flashing white in the sun. The colors were slightly muted, but they still managed to capture the general idea, the faded hue of Dean's brown jacket and the reds and whites of the flannel he had on underneath.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean stared at the picture in wonder.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He knew that phones could take pictures, of course, but there was something special about holding this small moment, this small piece of time, in the fingers of his right hand.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Do you like it?" Castiel asked. His voice had quieted, his tone soft as he looked at the Polaroid picture Dean held.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Yes," Dean said his voice just as quiet. They stared at it a moment longer before Dean held out the photo to Castiel, who shook his head.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "You keep it. It's your camera."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "No, I want you to keep it. So you can look at my beautiful face any time you want," Dean said, winking. Castiel rolled his eyes and snorted, but he took the photo from Dean's outstretched hand and pocketed it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean raised the Polaroid camera to his face, capturing Castiel's face in the frame. "Okay," he said. "Say 'fleas'!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     That one was apparently incredibly funny, because Castiel didn't stop laughing even after Dean had taken the photo out of the slot and held it to the sun, exposing it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     In fact, he was still laughing when the photo was fully finished, and by then Dean was laughing too.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel's face was red, tears in his eyes, and when he laughed so hard he snorted, Dean couldn't help himself. He snorted too, and then they devolved into a fresh bout of gasping wheezes.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     At some point, both boys fell to their knees, legs weak with the force of their laughter. It took another five minutes before they both flopped onto the dead, dry grass near the creek bed, gasping and wheezing.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "God, my stomach hurts from laughing so hard," Dean said, wiping his eyes. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel honest-to-God giggled. "That was very funny, Dean. 'Fleas'."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     And they both began laughing again.    </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     The fleas weren't as funny as Castiel was, and his friend was the real reason Dean was rolling in the grass, stomach aching. Castiel looked absolutely hilarious when he was laughing so hard he couldn't breathe. His face was red, his eyes crinkled, his bright teeth flashing in the winter sunlight, those blue eyes sparkling like jewels.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     <em>Beautiful</em>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean felt a flicker of confusion go through him as that word surfaced in his mind, but he shrugged it off. He didn't mention anything to Castiel, even after they had finished laughing their asses off.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     They were getting cold by that time, so they packed up the Polaroid and went around to the back of Dean’s house, where they had a quiet birthday celebration with the pie that Sam had baked.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean pretended to be surprised, and they all ate a slice of too-hot pie, burning their tongues to crisps.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     It was a school night, so Castiel had to go home soon after. He waved and wished Dean a happy birthday, then headed for the school where he would be picked up by Zachariah. Dean and Sam hid the pie and the new camera from their father, who was too blackout drunk by then to smell the scent of baked goods that still wafted through the house.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     That night, when Dean was changing his pants to get ready for bed, he found the Polaroid picture of Cas that he'd shoved in his pocket.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He smiled down at it, something warm in his chest expanding as he took in the perfect shot of Castiel doubled over, laughing. His hair was a ruffled with the cool breeze that had been blowing, his face scrunched up and his eyes running with tears of mirth.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     That word flashed in Dean's head again.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     <em>Beautiful</em>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He shoved it down again, figuring it was nothing, and continued getting ready for bed.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean kept the picture under his pillow for the rest of the winter.</p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>;) What did you think?</p>
<p>I have to confess, I usually have more to say in the Author's Note section, but I've found that I don't really have anything to say these days. Maybe I'm just sparing you all my blabbering. ;)</p>
<p>I had a question, for all of you teachers out there. Are teacher's pets really as annoying as everyone makes them out to be? (From a teacher's point of view). Also, you people are awesome. Thank you for dealing with us students. ;)</p>
<p>See you all on Tuesday! :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello, everybody! How are you all doing?</p><p>You're going to love this one. I know I did. ;) We need some fluff, don't you think?</p><p>Also, thank you to everyone who has left me such nice comments and given me kudos. I love you all, and I appreciate it. The comments make my day. ;) Enjoy the chapter!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div>
  <p>     <strong>Six</strong></p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel hated Lisa Braeden.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He didn't really know why. She had never done anything to him. She was nice, to an extent, and she was good to Dean. She could be a little dramatic sometimes, but that was fine. No one was perfect.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He still hated her.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     When they broke up the summer after their sophomore year, he pretended to be sad and sympathetic for Dean's sake. It was a lie.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean worked three jobs now. His eyes had dark shadows underneath them, his forehead lined more than usual. But he still had smile lines around his eyes. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel got a job at the local ice cream parlor that summer, and he gave Sam and Dean more free samples than he probably should have, but he couldn't find it in himself to care.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He found that he didn't care a lot, these days. He didn't care when he accidentally said a swear word, didn't care when he did something his mother would have found 'sinful'. He brought it up with Lucifer once, when he was sitting in the empty ice cream parlor with his older brother, snacking on banana splits he'd paid for.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Lucifer had just shrugged and said it was a part of growing up.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Making your own decisions is part of gaining independence, Cassie," he'd said, mouth crammed full of chocolate ice cream. "You're not gonna stay with Mother and Father forever, are you?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     That was true. Castiel was beginning to craft an impressive resume for colleges. He was the third-best runner in Lawrence, Kansas, and the best butterfly-swimmer in the state. He had an incredible record in his grades, only dipping below a grade for one quarter in the beginning of freshman year.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean, on the other hand, was struggling.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Though he always made time for Castiel, the dark-haired boy could tell that he was exhausted. Dean was constantly working, struggling to keep his family afloat as John's drinking addiction got worse and worse. The man had almost entirely stopped working, the occasional odd job becoming rarer and rarer.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Most of their time together throughout sophomore year was spent helping Dean study or correct his answers on a test. Even with Castiel's help, he barely passed math class and left English with a C+.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     It was the first time Castiel really <em>hated</em> John Winchester.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     It was also the first time his parents really found out about Dean, and they weren't pleased. Castiel had mentioned him before  but they hadn’t replied just <em>how</em> much time he’d been spending with the boy until Castiel came back from a late-night study session. He found his father and mother waiting for him in the entry hall, fuming mad and demanding answers.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He'd told them a more detailed, albeit discounted, version of who Dean was. Castiel conveniently left out that he was an atheist, failing math, and poor.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Even with those details gone, his mother had still been furious and had demanded that Castiel stop spending so much time with him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Needless to say, it was the first time Castiel hated his own parents too.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He found himself disagreeing with them more and more. He fumed silently when they mocked the beggars that sometimes flocked Lawrence's streets, desperate for a little change. He clenched his hands into fists when they said that people who didn't follow God would burn in Hell.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     <em>Dean doesn't follow God</em>, Castiel remembered thinking. <em>But. . . he's not going to Hell</em>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     <em>He can't</em>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Not Dean Winchester. Not the sweet boy who had gotten stung eighteen times trying to get some honey for Castiel's sixteenth birthday present. Not Dean, who worked his ass off to make sure that his little brother got enough to eat every day. Not Dean, who stood up to bullies, especially when they were picking on little freshmen or people who couldn't stand up for themselves.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel couldn't imagine it. Even better, he refused to.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He never told anyone about his quiet rebellion, not even his brothers.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Michael and Lucifer, the oldest twins, graduated that summer. Michael went off to Silicon Valley, California, to go to college and then partner in some big company that made water bottles or something. Lucifer snuck off to California too, but he went to start his own tattoo shop, which he promised Gabriel a share in when the third-oldest Novak graduated the summer after.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Their parents, true to form, were incredibly pleased with Michael and incredibly disappointed in Lucifer.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel didn't care. He made friends with Jody, the woman who worked the post office, and got her to send letters to Lucifer for free if he agreed to come in and clean every Sunday.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     That summer, Dean spent the off hours he had at the creek with Castiel. Sam played less with them, preferring to stay on the bank and read the stacks of books he checked out from the library.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     That was fine. Castiel didn't mind wrestling Dean in the water, though Dean won every time. He always shoved Castiel under the water, but Castiel never panicked because he was on the swim team and he'd done far worse.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He always beat Dean in swimming, and Dean always beat him in wrestling. Neither boy really cared, so long as they had fun and didn't talk about the scars and bruises that were slowly increasing in number on Dean's body.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean grew another two inches that summer, though Castiel stayed where he was. Dean was now over six feet, Castiel standing just under.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Sam was starting to grow too, something Dean told Castiel privately on a late night drive when he managed to sneak out and scale his parents' estate's fence.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He did that often.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel would receive a text from Dean, asking if he was free that night. He always responded that yes, he was. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Tonight, like all the others, he left the family dinner buzzing with excitement. When everyone was in bed and the house was quiet, Castiel popped the screen off his window and climbed out onto the awning below.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He carefully crept across the roof, silent as death, and jumped down into the soft grass of the well-kept lawn below. Then he ran across the yard and clambered over the large fence that surrounded their property, heart beating hard and mouth fixed in a permanent grin.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He dropped down, and there on the darkened road, headlights dimmed and engine rumbling softly, was 'Baby'. Dean had taken to calling his Impala that, and Castiel thought it was hilarious and more than a little endearing.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He always jumped into the passenger seat and let Dean drive them somewhere. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He didn't care where they went. He got the sense Dean didn't either. They could go anywhere. Anywhere, as long as they were together.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     The morning of Castiel's birthday, he woke up to texts from various people from school and his swim and sprinting team, all wishing him a happy birthday.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He grinned as he read through them, but it faded as he realized that Dean hadn't contacted him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Figuring his friend was probably working a morning shift at the diner, Castiel tried to brush it off.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He suffered through a day of stilted formalities and random, rich friends of his parents wishing him a happy birthday. He got an expensive new car, as well as several other gifts that probably cost more than anything he and Dean had ever exchanged, combined.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel was grateful, but he couldn't help but be a little saddened by the fact that his friend hadn't contacted him at all.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He was in the middle of a far-too-extravagant dinner that he hadn't asked for when his phone buzzed with a text.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Heart pounding with excitement, Castiel opened the message under the table.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     It was a single sentence from Dean.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     <em>Get in, feathers</em>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel grinned, despite himself, knowing exactly what Dean meant.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He hurried dinner along, claiming to be exhausted. It still took forever, and Gabriel as giving him weird looks, as if sensing his anxious, apprehensive energy. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Finally, dinner ended. Everyone went off to bed. Castiel pretended to get ready, wished his little sister a good night of sleep, and changed into comfortable clothes as he waited. When the house was asleep, he crept out of his room and across the yard.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Just like he'd thought, Dean was sitting in the waiting Impala, her lines sleek and beautiful underneath the silver light of the moon.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel got into the car, grinning like a madman.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Hello, Dean," he rasped.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Heya, Cas. Ready?" Dean asked. He was smiling faintly, a twinkle in his green eyes.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel nodded, still grinning. He couldn't have stopped if he'd tried. There was just something so intoxicating about being near Dean.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He already felt much better, the lingering feelings of disappointment and sadness flying away underneath the glow of the stars and the rumble of the Impala's engine.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean drove way too fast once they got past the city limits, but Castiel didn't care. He was tempted to ask where they were going, but he had learned over the years to simply trust Dean.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     So he just held on as Dean roared down the empty highway, the Impala pushing one hundred easily.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel's heart was racing with excitement and adrenaline. He knew that if a jackrabbit or a coyote suddenly emerged onto the road before them, it would all be over. With the speed they were going and the fact that the car had no airbags, they would surely die.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     For some reason, the air of danger and threat of death only made Castiel's heart race faster in excitement.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He laughed as Dean revved the engine, watching as a large hill came into view.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Suddenly, it all made sense. Blu Hill was famous around the city for being a great place to go sledding in the winter. It was the tallest mountain for miles around, which didn't honestly mean much in Kansas, but was everything to the local children.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean got off on the exit and slowed as they followed a curving road up the side of Blu Hill, the Impala's engine rumbling in the quiet night.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel sucked in a breath as they rounded the top of the hill. Dean slowed the car to a crawl, thumping gently off the road and onto a patch of green grass at the very top.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     The summit of Blu Hill was a perfect tabletop, spanning roughly twenty yards in diameter and perfect for parking a car on top of.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean wordlessly got out of the car.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel got out too, following his friend to the trunk.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Go on, stand at the edge over there," Dean said to him, his first words beside the greeting he'd given to Castiel at his house. "Give me a minute."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel didn't even hesitate. He just nodded, trusting Dean, and went over to the edge of the hill. The drop-off wasn't steep, but if he fell, he'd get scratched up for sure.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He could hear Dean shuffling around behind him, but he resisted the urge to look back. Once again, Castiel trusted his friend.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He stared out at the lights of Lawrence, Kansas, at the glowing skyscrapers and the brightly lit streets. He smiled faintly, eyes flicking up from the glow of the city to that of the moon and the stars. It was a perfectly clear night, the moon full and bright.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Alright, Cas. You can come over here now," Dean said.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel grinned and stood, turning from the brightly lit city to his friend.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He stopped dead.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean was standing beside the Impala awkwardly, a hand rubbing the back of his neck.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Spread on the hood was a thick plaid blanket. There was a pizza carefully arranged on a plate and a small chocolate cake beside it. Some lanterns were spread around the car, lighting it with a soft golden glow.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean coughed a little, obviously feeling awkward. Castiel blinked, grinning.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Dean, this is amazing," he said.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     The tension in Dean's shoulders practically melted at his words. He blinked at Castiel, green eyes wide, a flicker of excitement dancing in their depths. "Really?" he asked.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Yes," Castiel breathed, stepping forward. He laughed, the sound small and happy. "Far better than the eight-course meal my parents forced me to sit through."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean's face brightened at his words, then fell. "Oh, yeah. I guess I didn't think about the fact that you've probably already eaten."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel shook his head, brushing past his friend as he stepped toward the car, blue eyes still wide with awe.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "It doesn't matter," he assured. "I'm a teenage boy; we eat ungodly amounts, as you know."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean laughed, the sound breaking through any lingering tension. "Perfect. Climb up, the hood is strong enough to hold both of us."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel clambered onto the hood of the car, careful not to slip or disturb the carefully arranged food.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "We're facing away from the city," Castiel commented as Dean swung himself up after him. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Yeah. I figured. . . I came up here earlier and figured out where east was. So we could. . . so we could watch the sunrise, you know?" Dean asked, looking away. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He was tense again, as if afraid Castiel would reject him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     There was also a lingering awkwardness, something that stemmed from the unspoken things still between them, the oceans of words that centered around the night Castiel had come to Dean's rescue and watched the sun rise with him for the first time.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "It's perfect," Castiel assured quietly, resting a hand on Dean's shoulder. Dean was warm beneath the thick leather of his jacket, and he smiled shyly at Castiel.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Great." The air hung heavy between them for a moment, not quite uncomfortable, but loaded with unspoken words and unexpressed feeling. Finally, Dean spoke, the first to break under the weight of the silence. "Well, this food won't eat itself."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel laughed, helping himself to a piece of pizza. Half of it had pineapple on it, and the other half had extra meat, just how they both liked it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     This dinner was far from the expensive, eight-course meal Castiel had had previously. The enormous dinner table and pristine tablecloth had been traded for a worn, faded plaid blanket spread on the hood of a car. The china plates and matching golden cutlery had been replaced by plastic utensils and paper plates. Elegant candles were exchanged for battered, flickering lanterns.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel looked around and decided he wouldn't change a single thing.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean was watching him carefully, something surprisingly fragile and vulnerable in his eyes. They glowed with a soft golden light, lit by the lanterns that surrounded the car.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "You don't have to pretend," he said quietly, looking at the ground. "I know it's nowhere near as extravagant as the dinner you probably had-"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Dean, this is far superior to that," Castiel assured him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "You sure?" Dean asked, nose scrunching adorably in suspicion. "Shitty pizza and paper plates and all?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "And all," Castiel said, nodding.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean paused for a moment, as if still disbelieving.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Then his face broke into a soft grin. He looked away bashfully, cheeks tinted pink. "Awesome. Happy birthday, man."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel grinned right back. "Thank you, Dean."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     They ate the pizza, managing to cram all eight slices in between the two of them. Dean pulled out a six-pack of Coke, which he popped and toasted Castiel with.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "To two and a half years of being dumbasses," Dean said, Coke can raised in the air, "and to infinitely many more."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel laughed and bumped his Coke against Dean's, taking a gulp afterward. The carbonation burned his throat, but he didn't care.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     They drank their soda in silence, the night quiet and buzzing with crickets.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "I almost forgot," Dean said suddenly, sliding off the hood of the Impala. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "What?" Castiel asked curiously, watching as his friend walked around to the driver's door and opened it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "I showed you that song a few weeks ago and you liked it, right?" Dean asked. Castiel nodded, frowning.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Yes. Macklemore. What does that have to do with anything?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "I figured you'd like this one too. It's called 'Good Old Days'," Dean said, fiddling with the radio a little and popping a tape in.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel listened as the sound of a synth piano floated through the night.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Soon, an unfamiliar female voice began to sing. “Kesha,” Dean supplied. “Featured artist.” Castiel merely nodded, listening as the song began.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     <em>"I wish somebody would have told me, babe. . . That someday these would be the good old days."</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean came back around the car, swinging himself back up on the hood. He winked at Castiel as the music continued to play, twisting and floating through the night air.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     <em>"All the love, you won't forget. . . All these reckless nights, you won't regret. . . Someday soon, your whole life's gonna change. . . You'll miss the magic of these good old days."</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel smiled, closing his eyes as he soaked in the song.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     It seemed to circle around him, sinking into his skin, burrowing into his bones. It rose in the quiet summer air, the crickets chirping faintly.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean was silent, eyes resting on the winking stars far above. Castiel stared at him for a moment, marveling at the beauty of his face.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He knew, in the back of his mind, that it was wrong to think that way about his friend. Wrong to think that way about any other boy in general.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     <em>Sin</em>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     But in that moment, with the quiet music floating through the warm summer night, Castiel didn't care.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean's green eyes slid from the heavens to Castiel, the expression of faint awe and appreciation never fading.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     <em>"You don't know. . . What you've got. . . 'Til it goes. . . 'Til it's gone. . ."</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Dean," Castiel said, and he didn't know what he would have said then. He didn't know what would have come out, what it would have meant, how it would have changed everything that happened in the years to come.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     But in that moment, his phone buzzed. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     They both glanced down at the same time, and the moment was broken.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel opened his phone, wincing at a text from Gabriel, asking where he was.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He quickly fired back that he was spending time with someone, to which his older brother sent a winking face back. Castiel debated telling him that he wasn't getting laid, but he decided against it. Let Gabriel think what he wanted.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "It's three in the morning," he realized, staring down at the glowing screen of his phone. They'd gone to bed late, and he'd left the house even later. The drive up here had taken roughly an hour. . .</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Is that. . . Is that a problem?" Dean asked tentatively. He was tense again, the line of his shoulders hard and unyielding.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel shook his head, putting his phone away and silently cursing himself for ever taking it out. "No, of course not. I was just commenting."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Oh," Dean said, but it did nothing to diffuse the awkward tension in the air.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     They sat like that for a moment, both tense, before Castiel finally said, "I would still very much enjoy watching the sunrise with you, Dean."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean snorted. "Great."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He said it with no small amount of sarcasm, but Castiel could see the tension drain out of him. He relaxed too, leaning back against the windshield of the Impala with Dean.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "We still have cake," Dean said after a moment.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "The most important part," Castiel deadpanned.     </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean burst out laughing, face scrunching and body curling with the force of his mirth. Castiel laughed too, though he had no idea what was so funny. He just found incredible happiness in Dean's laughter.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     They talked and ate cake for another two hours, the tape running through the various songs Dean had recorded on it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "I enjoy this collection of songs," Castiel told Dean sometime around five a.m.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     His friend grinned. "Great, because it's the last part of your gift."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Dean, you really don't-"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "It's the least I could do, Cas," Dean said, holding up a hand to cut Castiel off. His voice brooked no argument, though Castiel felt slightly guilty. The extent of the gifts he'd received was incredible, and he felt sort of stupid having given Dean a camera for his sixteenth birthday.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     But he didn't feel bad for long. It was impossible to in Dean's company, impossible to really do anything but smile and laugh.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     They finished the cake too. Dean cleared the plates and trash away, and then it was just the two of them on the hood of the Impala, leaning against the windshield, looking out at the stars.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Soon, the east began to lighten. Castiel realized that Dean really <em>had</em> positioned the car in the right direction, that they would be getting a faceful of the sun soon.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     They'd finished the Coke long ago. Castiel knew he would pay for it tomorrow, when he tried to do his normal swimming laps and remembered that he'd eaten half of a pizza, most of a cake, and three cans of Coke the night before.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Once again, he found he didn't really care. He was here, with Dean. That was all that really mattered.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     With a soft click, the tape ended. Dean reached into the car absentmindedly, rolling it through so that it started over.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Good Old Days" began to play again.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel and Dean's conversation lapsed into comfortable silence as the sun began to rise, breaking the horizon and staining the sky pink and gold and red.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel watched Dean out of the corner of his eye, mesmerized by the way the sun lit the gold flecks in his green eyes like fire.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean's gaze turned and again, they caught each other's eyes.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     For a moment, neither moved.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel almost didn't dare to breathe, his blue eyes searching Dean's. They were lit from the side, glowing like a dying star.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     <em>Beautiful</em>, Castiel thought again.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     <em>Sin</em>, something else whispered back.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He swallowed past a sudden tightness in his throat, eyes still searching Dean's.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean just blinked, looking back.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     In the quiet, Macklemore and Kesha sang softly, their voices floating from the radio and rising on the air, reaching for the sky and the rising sun within.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     <em>"I wish somebody would have told me, babe. . . That someday these would be the good old days. . . All the love, you won't forget. . . All these reckless nights, you won't regret. . ."</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel looked away first, eyes going to the sunrise once more, unable to bear the weight of the silence between them.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     <em>"</em><em>Someday soon, your whole life's gonna change. . . You'll miss the magic of these good old days. . ."</em></p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>If you wanted to actually listen to the song, 'Good Old Days' by Macklemore, ft. Kesha, it's a really good song for this story. Here, it's almost better to listen to the slowed-down version, which can be attained by listening to 'Good Old Days', slowed. I know there's some audios on YouTube that have that.</p><p>The lyrics are perfect for the story, that's all I'm going to say. I love Macklemore.</p><p>I'll see you all in three days! Love you! ;)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello, everybody!</p>
<p>Shorter one today, sorry. :( It's packed full of angst, though!</p>
<p>Thank you so much for all the wonderful comments and kudos. I really love you guys. ;)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div>
  <p>     <strong>Seven</strong></p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Junior year was a shitshow.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean's grades dropped even lower. He was barely passing classes now, unable to keep up with the workload that the teachers demanded.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Worse, after his initial face-off with Azazel the spring of freshman year, the yellow-eyed boy hadn't left him alone. Between him and his little brother, Alastair, Dean's life was a living hell.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They waited for him by his locker at different times of the day, so much so that he started avoiding it just so he could get to class on time. Of course, the boys couldn’t always be avoided, and if they didn’t pick a fight at the lockers, they picked a fight in the lunchroom. Dean was starting to get a bad reputation with the teachers because of his grades, and it was made worse by the constant fights he was being dragged into by the Prince boys.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Hey, fag!” Alastair called as Dean passed. Dean ignored him, trying to get to science without getting beat up for once. It was one of his few classes without Castiel, and he hated it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “C’mere, bitch. I’m talking to you,” Alastair growled. He grabbed the strap of Dean’s backpack and used it to throw him into the metal lockers to the right, earning him a grunt of pain.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean blinked up at Alastair, who had gotten unbelievably tall and skinny. His face looked like skin stretched over a skull.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Azazel, on the other hand, had gotten strong. He probably would have been a good wrestler, if he hadn’t disagreed with Dean and gotten himself kicked off the team mid-season sophomore year. That was one area where Dean was safe. No matter how bad his grades were, Dean’s performance in sports made him a star in the coaches’ eyes.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Can’t you fuck off for a single day?” Dean asked, trying to sound bored. “I have a quiz in science.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Oh, is it important? Scared it’ll make or break your shitty grades?” Alastair asked. He sneered. “Wouldn’t want to hurt your chances of getting into a good college now, would we, Winchester? After all, it’s the only escape route from Daddy you’ve got.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean bared his teeth at Alastair, but resisted the urge to punch him. He knew Castiel hated when he got into fights, and he didn’t want to disappoint his friend.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Nah, he could leech off that queer, Novak,” Azazel sneered. “Heard he’s got money. ’S that the reason you’re friends with him, Winchester?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I’m friends with him because he’s not a fucking asshole, that’s why. And he’s not a queer,” Dean growled.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “No? Just like you’re not a fag?” Alastair asked, gripping Dean’s shoulder and squeezing hard enough to bruise. Dean wrenched away from him, snarling.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “So what if I am?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “So that’s disgusting,” Azazel replied, grinning that awful smile again.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Well, so was when your dad fucked your pet cat and made you,” Dean shot back.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>That</em> pissed Azazel off. He was notorious for his ugly yellow eyes, and it was something most everyone teased him about. They joked that Crowley Prince had screwed an alley cat and had Azazel, and the boy had never really been able to live it down.    </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The punch came faster than Dean could dodge. His body was thrown into the lockers, clanging loudly in the near-empty hallway. The bell would ring soon, and Dean thought dazedly that it was a shame he was going to be late for science again.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “You fucking bitch,” Azazel snarled, grabbing Dean’s collar and glaring down at him. His knuckles were bruised from all the times he’d punched Dean that week. “I bet you bend over and take it up the ass for Novak so that he gives you some of his lunch, that way you don’t starve to death. I could kill you right now, you know th-“</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “What the hell is going on here?” someone asked.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean was released, shoved back against the lockers as Azazel and Alastair stepped away.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    It was obvious what had been ‘going on’. Dean’s beaten face and Azazel’s bruised knuckles was enough of an indication. Still, the teacher that had come down the hallway merely looked miffed.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Nothing, ma’am,” Alastair replied, giving the teacher a slimy smile and a not-so-subtle once over.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Get to class,” she replied, turning her head and continuing down the hall. Azazel and Alastair waited until she was out of sight, then shoved at Dean again.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “You’re fucking lucky, Winchester. One of these days. . . ,” Azazel growled.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They glared at Dean for a little while longer, then turned and sauntered off to whichever bathroom they chose to smoke weed in that time. Dean wiped at the blood that flowed from his split lip and adjusted his backpack, wincing as he heard the bell chime. Late again.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Sighing, he straightened his clothes and walked to class.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     When Dean wasn't being beaten to a pulp against the metal lockers of the school hallways, he was being beaten to a pulp by his father on the filthy floors of the house he tried so hard to keep clean.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     John got drunker that school year. Drunker and meaner.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He'd stopped caring about whether or not Sam knew or saw. Dean had taken to sending his brother straight to his room after school, ordering him to stay there until he gave the all-clear.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Sam, of course, was growing up. He didn't listen to Dean all the time anymore.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Sometimes he didn't go to his room. Sometimes he saw. Sometimes he got into fights with their father, which only made it worse for Dean.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     It was fine. The kid had to grow up sometime, right?</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     They were sitting on their separate beds one night, both staring at the wall past the other's head.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "I got straight As again," Sam said quietly, after a moment.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He didn't mention the bloody cut Dean was patching up, a gift from the bottle John had smashed over his arm.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Great job, Sammy," Dean said, smiling tiredly.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He didn't mention the way it stung, the fact that the only reason it had happened was because Sam had gotten into yet another argument with their father about school and hanging out with friends.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "My teachers say I'm going to have my pick of any college I want," Sam said, so soft that it was almost a whisper.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He didn't mention the fact that colleges cost money, and that despite Dean's best efforts, he still knew that they were only barely earning enough to eat.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "That's great, Sammy. Which college are you going to go to?" Dean asked, wincing as he dragged a needle and thread through his torn skin.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He didn't mention the fact that a flicker of betrayal slithered through his gut, accompanied by the question: <em>Why do you want to go to college, am I not enough?</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Stanford," Sam replied, voice still so soft. "I'm going to be a lawyer. I'm going to protect people from bad guys."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He didn't mention anything about the 'bad guy' that was currently blacked out on the couch in the living room.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "We'll figure out a way to do that, Sammy," Dean said, smiling. "Promise."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He didn't mention the way his heart twisted painfully at the thought.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel was working when Dean walked into the ice cream parlor.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Hello, welcome to-oh, hello, Dean."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Hey, Cas," Dean replied. He knew he sounded awful, but he was too tired to pretend he was okay.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He had the night off from the gas station. John was already blackout drunk, so he didn't pose a threat. Sam was doing homework, quiet after their conversation.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     And Dean? Dean felt like shit. So he'd decided to be selfish. And he'd gone to find the only person who could help him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "I'm not going to ask if you are alright," Castiel said, brows dipping with worry, "as I already know the answer."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "What's that, Cas?" Dean asked tiredly, sliding into a spot at the booth.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "You'll say you're fine. You're not," Castiel replied, reaching down behind the counter to grab a glass milkshake cup.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "If I say I'm fine, it means I am. And I can't pay for the shake, Cas, you know that," Dean said, eyes slipping closed despite his best attempts to keep them open.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "It's on me," Castiel replied, turning on the machine to drown out Dean's protest.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He made a chocolate shake, swirling whipped cream on top. Castiel stuck a straw in it, then slid it across the counter, the cup coming to a perfect stop in front of Dean.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Thanks, Cas," Dean said, too exhausted to really put up a fight.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel flipped a towel over his shoulder and leaned on the sparkling counter, the glare of the fluorescent lights making the ends of his raven hair shine golden.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Of course. Now tell me what's troubling you," he said.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean sighed, taking a sip of the shake. It was amazing, as always. He had way more free shakes here than was probably legal, but he really didn't care.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "It's nothing," he tried, but his weak attempt to deflect crumbled underneath the withering glare Castiel sent him. Dean sighed. "It's just. . . Sammy wants to go to Stanford."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Good for him," Castiel said, rubbing at his face. "He's smart. He can go anywhere he wants."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Yeah, I know," Dean grumbled, turning away so Castiel couldn't see the frustration on his face. "But even if he gets a full-ride, he still needs. . . I don't know, books. Books and pocket money and a car and his own phone, for God's sake! I can't even afford the one I have."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "You can get discounts-"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Cas, I haven't eaten in three days," Dean said seriously. He looked his friend in the eyes, fighting the trembling of his hands. "I haven't eaten in three days, and Sam had to forgo lunch today. It's Thursday. Tomorrow, at exactly five o'clock, I'm going to get a paycheck. Ten percent of it is going into my bank account to be saved. Thirty percent is going to be used to buy groceries and pay bills and get clothes and things we need to <em>survive</em>. And the rest, the sixty percent, is going to be used for a date with good old Jack Daniels."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Don't give him the money," Castiel said, as if it were the most simple thing in the world. They both knew it wasn't.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "I <em>can't</em>. He'll kill me. Or worse, he'll hurt Sam," Dean hissed. He ran a hand through his hair, unable to withhold his frustration and fear any longer. His hands were shaking badly.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Go to the police, Dean," Castiel urged. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "I can't, Cas," Dean said. His heart was beating too fast, his breathing too loud in his ears, his face too hot. Castiel looked blurry.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Why?" he heard his friend ask.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Because I. . . I can't."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "<em>Why?</em>"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Because I <em>can't!</em>"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     The empty ice cream parlor rang with the echo of Dean's shout.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He inhaled deeply, trying to fight off the panic attack that had snuck up on him without his detection. When he'd regained control of his breathing, his hands were fisted white on the gleaming counter and Castiel was watching him with an unbearably sad look in his blue eyes.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean looked away, grateful that at least the whirring of the ice cream machines and freezers filled the tense silence.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "I can't," he whispered.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Why?" Castiel asked again, his voice soft in contrast to his previous shout.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Because he's. . . he's my <em>father</em>. I'm his son. I'm supposed to be loyal to him," Dean said quietly, shaking his head.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "And in turn, he is meant to protect you and care for you," Castiel said. "He isn't doing that, Dean. He hasn't been doing that for years."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean flinched a little, but he couldn't deny the words. They were true.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "I can't just leave. I can't just take Sam and go," he whispered. "I <em>can't</em>."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Why not?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Damn it, Cas!" Dean shouted, slamming his hand down on the metal counter. "You really think it's that easy? Even if I hated the man and wanted him dead, I wouldn't leave. There would be a whole ordeal with Social Services and the police and foster homes and a bunch of other. . . of other <em>bullshit!</em> Good God, Sam graduates Lawrence Middle School next year, same time as I graduate high school. He’d be taken out and wouldn’t be able to finish the school year. I can’t. . . I can’t <em>do</em> that to Sam. All he wants is to be normal, Cas, and is that really so much to ask?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Let me ask <em>you</em> something," Castiel growled, his eyes lit with blue fire. "Is coming home to a parental figure you fear and listening to your brother getting beaten every night in any way <em>normal?</em> Do you really think that's what's best for Sam?"     </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Fuck you!" Dean shouted, because he couldn't think of anything else to say. "You have no idea what it's like!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel sighed, the tension flowing from his body like water in a river. His face softened, his voice gentle, as he said, "No, I don't. And Dean, I am here for you. I am here for whatever you need."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, clenched his fists. He fought the tears that threatened to spill, the sob that choked his throat, the shaking of his hands.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel was patient, understanding. He let Dean master his emotions, let him get a grip on the tight leash he kept them on. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Thank you, Cas," Dean rasped quietly, after a while. He opened his eyes, suddenly exhausted. He slid the half-empty milkshake back across the counter, along with a crumpled five dollar bill. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Dean-"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Goodnight, Cas. I'll see you tomorrow," Dean said. He slid off the bar stool, feeling as if his shoulders were weighted down with a thousand pounds.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Goodnight, Dean," Castiel said quietly behind him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean left and didn't look back, if only so he didn't have to see the unbearable sadness in his friend's gravelly voice reflected in his beautiful blue eyes.</p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>:( Poor Dean.</p>
<p>I wanted to make it clear, I don't think child abuse is cool at all. It's portrayed in a traumatizing light in this story, which it very much is. If you are being abused, or if anyone you know is being abused, go to the police. Unfortunately, like Dean, it might not always be simple and clear-cut. You might have to fight, and that's okay. Keep fighting, because you are all beautiful human beings and you deserve it. :)</p>
<p>I'll see you all in three days. Thank you so much for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey, everyone! How are you? ;) Just wanted to remind you that you're all amazing.</p><p>Okay, so I have to be honest, this chapter is really heavy. And I mean really. There is a SHITLOAD of homophobic language and shaming of a homosexual person. Also talk of conversion camps. I will never graphically show the actual conversion camp, but it is heavily referenced.</p><p>Stay safe, please. You're too precious. Enjoy the chapter. . . Maybe. :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div>
  <p>     <strong>Eight</strong></p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel got back late from the ice cream parlor after his talk with Dean.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He felt strange. Disjointed.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean had a tendency to do that to him these days, though it was typically a good feeling. Right now, it made him feel sick.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He found his mother waiting for him, sitting alone at a table with a plate of food laid out at the place across from her, covered with a silver dome to keep it warm.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Hello, Mother," Castiel said quietly.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Castiel," Naomi Novak acknowledged. "How was work?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Fine, Mother."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel ate slowly, mechanically. He didn't really taste the artichoke and pork chop that had been laid out, though he was sure it was delicious.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "What are you thinking, Castiel?" Naomi asked, head tilted a little to the side. Castiel sighed, looking down at his food. He knew that though his mother could be a frigid bitch at times, she was incredibly sharp when it came to detecting other people's emotions.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "My friend is having troubles," Castiel told her honestly. He sighed, putting his fork down and fiddling with the edge of his linen napkin. "I want to help him."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Why?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     And wasn't that so typical of his mother? She didn't want to know what the troubles were, or how she could help. She wanted to know why Castiel even bothered in the first place.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "I. . . I care about him," Castiel said quietly, the words emerging before he could stop them. It was true, but it wasn’t the way he would have chosen to voice his feelings.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "How?" Naomi asked. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "He's funny, and the nicest person I know," Castiel admitted. He smiled a little to himself. "I enjoy his company greatly. It hurts me to see him in pain."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "And is he handsome?" Naomi asked.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Yes," Castiel said, laughing a little. "Very."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     There was a silence. Castiel realized exactly what he'd just said and froze. Too late, he glanced up, taking in the sudden change of her voice.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     She was watching him very intently now, brown eyes cold and calculating. "Really?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "I don't know," Castiel said, quickly backpedaling, but he knew it was already too late. "I shouldn't have said that."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Naomi's face twisted, becoming horrified and sad. At least, her face was. Her eyes remained the same: cold and hard.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "You have the sickness too," she whispered.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel blinked. "The. . . what?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "The sickness." Naomi closed her eyes sadly. She inspected her carefully manicured nails, shaking her head in disappointment. "Your brother had it too, Castiel."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "I don't know what you mean, Mother," Castiel said, though they both knew he was lying. His throat felt choked, his eyes hot. His voice was shaking. He knew what came next.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "<em>Sin</em>," Naomi hissed, suddenly stopping all movement and glaring straight into Castiel's eyes. "You find other men attractive, don't you?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel choked a little, shaking his head before he could really think.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Naomi stood and stalked around the table. Before Castiel could react, she backhanded him, so hard his head snapped to the side and the noise rang out through the enormous hall.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Tears, not just from pain, rose to Castiel's eyes.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Disgusting boy!" Naomi shrieked. "You're vile! Worthless! You're a sinner!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "No," Castiel whispered, shaking his head. "No, Mother, <em>please</em>-"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "I won't tolerate having you in my house," Naomi snarled. "This is a house of <em>God</em>."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Mother, please," Castiel begged. His voice sounded tinny and faraway, as if he was listening to himself from a distance. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears, pounding hard.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "I am not your Mother," Naomi hissed.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Please, I can't control it," Castiel said, feeling as if he should get out of his chair and fall to his knees, beg for forgiveness. "Please, I don't want this, Mother. I can't-I can't-"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Naomi's face changed, and she calmed slightly. "You truly don't <em>want</em> to feel this way toward men?" she asked, the rage in her face melting to that cold, calculating mask again.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "No!" Castiel cried, shaking his head. "No, I don't. I don't, please, I don't."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Naomi tilted her head to the side, as if assessing the desperation in his words. Castiel waited, holding his breath, silently praying and begging for all he was worth.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Finally, his mother seemed to come to a decision.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Very well. I understand your struggle, Castiel. I know that you try to be a good servant of the Lord," she said.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Yes," Castiel agreed numbly, not really thinking of what he was saying.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "I'm going to help you, my son," Naomi said, voice a mockery of gentility. "I'm going to fix you."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "H-How?" Castiel asked, lip trembling.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     She smiled, and it was cold and cruel and sent a shiver down Castiel's spine.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Have you ever heard of a conversion camp, my sweet?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>     Gay.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>     Sin.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>     Conversion.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>     Vile.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>     Wretched.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>     Gay.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>     Gay.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>     I'm gay.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel opened his phone, punched in a familiar number. He'd taken a risk in keeping it, knowing that he'd be punished severely if his parents ever found out it was there.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     But he couldn't bring himself to give up all contact with his brother.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Though it was late, nearly midnight, the other end of the line crackled to life.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Hello? Castiel?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Luke," Castiel breathed, unable to keep a sob from his voice.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Cassie? Is everything okay? Jesus, it's nearly midnight. Are you alright?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Luke, I'm gay."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     There was a silence on the other end. Finally, Lucifer chuckled, though Castiel could tell it was a little choked. "Well shit, Cassie. Congratulations."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel sobbed a little in relief, so unbelievably happy that his brother wasn't angry. He'd known, of course, that Lucifer would be the most accepting out of anyone he knew. But after the interaction he'd just had with his mother, he didn't think he trusted anyone.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Don't tell Mother and Father," Lucifer said at the other end of the line.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel laugh-sobbed again. "They already know, Luke. I think M-Mother figured it out before me."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Fuck. Shit. Did she hurt you? Are you alright?" Lucifer asked, suddenly sounding very agitated.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "No," Castiel said, a little confused. "No, I'm fine. Why?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Lucifer breathed out a soft sigh of what sounded like relief. "No reason, Cassie. I just. . . I was worried. I know they're not very understanding when it comes to that shit."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel closed his eyes, the snarky response he would have normally given dying on his lips. "I know," he said quietly.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "What did Mother do?" Lucifer asked from the other end, sounding apprehensive. Castiel sighed.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "She slapped me once, but that's fine. Nothing close to that time she had Father belt you and Gabriel for spray-painting Michael's Sunday suit pink."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Lucifer laughed at the other end, Castiel laughing with him as they both remembered that day. Michael had nearly passed out when he’d found it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     The laughter died soon, though, as they remembered the punishment that had followed. Their father had beaten Gabriel until he'd cried and Lucifer until he'd vomited. Castiel had snuck into his brothers' beds that night, demanding that they promise they were fine. He'd spent the night curled up close to Gabriel, as if that could soothe the pain of the savage beating.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "What else?" Lucifer asked quietly, bringing Castiel back to the present.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel swallowed. "She said she was going to send me to a conversion camp."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Lucifer swore loudly on the other end of the line. Castiel flinched a little. He was curled into a corner of his room, tucked into the shadows his bed cast.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Don't go," Lucifer said.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "I have to," Castiel replied. "If I don't, she'll kick me out."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Come live with me," Lucifer urged. "I can. . . I can work an extra job, pull the weight for both of us. You can get a job too, settle down here, there's a <em>great</em> high school-"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Luke, I can't," Castiel interrupted. He sighed as he tipped his head back, letting it hit the wall. "I have to finish high school here. I have to get out of here, go to a good college and leave this damned place forever."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Leave now," Lucifer said.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "I can't."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Why?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "I have friends here," Castiel replied, closing his eyes.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     <em>Dean</em>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     As tempting as the offer was, he couldn't leave Dean. His friend would be devastated. Though Castiel knew they only really had one year left together, he wanted to make the most of it. He opened his eyes and stared out into the dark room, the shadows grainy with filtered light.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Castiel, you can't go to that conversion camp. It's hell," Lucifer said. "They. . . They shame you. They tell you that you're wrong for being gay, and you're <em>not</em>. Please, little bro, listen to me. You're not wrong, you're not an abomination. But you need to get the hell out of that house."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "I can't ask you to support me as well as yourself-"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "But I will."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel closed his eyes, silently thanking God for his older brother. "Thank you, Lucifer," he said, voice more than a little choked. "Thank you. But I can't leave Lawrence. Not yet."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Lucifer sighed heavily, his breath fuzzing as static over the line. "Okay. Okay, fine. But. . . But let all that bullshit go in one ear and out the other, alright?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Alright," Castiel agreed, smiling faintly in the darkness.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Promise me, Cassie. Don't listen to that shit. You're fine the way you are, and liking dudes is fine too," Lucifer said.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Okay. I promise, Luke," Castiel replied.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Good. I have to go to work early tomorrow, so I should probably get some sleep," Lucifer said, yawning a little. Castiel laughed.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Alright. Goodnight, Luke."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "'Night, Cassie. Talk to you soon."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "You too."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     There was a pause, and then the line went dead.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel let the phone fall away from his ear, his head tipping back to rest against the wall. He closed his eyes for a moment, blocking out the play of moonlight and shadow across his floor.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     His head was spinning, volleying between the two truths he been presented with that night.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>     Gay is a sin.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>     Gay is normal.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>     Sin.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>     Normal.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>     Sin.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>     Normal.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>     I need to talk to Dean.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>     NO!</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel blinked his eyes open, shaking his head. There was no way he could talk to Dean. No <em>way</em>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     That would be the worst possible thing he could do right now. He couldn't tell his friend. He had enough things to deal with, and Castiel's gay panic wasn't and would never be one of them.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Besides. . .</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     <em>No. Not going there.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel closed his eyes, defaulting to his coping mechanism whenever things got to crazy in his head. He just had to think it through.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>     Okay. Okay, I'm okay. I'm going to take this step by step.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>     I won't tell Dean. I'll keep this to myself. I won't even tell Gabriel. And I'll go to this damned conversion camp. I'll let it all wash over me, like Lucifer said. And then I'll never mention it again.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Yes. Yes, that plan made sense.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel could do that. He coulddo that. Right?</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Right.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Mind made up, jaw set with determination, Castiel shoved the rest of his internal panic down and stood, getting ready for bed.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He deliberately didn't think about Dean for the rest of the night.</p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>:( Poor Castiel. Naomi is a bitch.</p><p>I didn't tag the Novak family as physically abusive toward Castiel, and that's the last time he will ever be graphically struck or even verbally assaulted, though the verbal abuse/homophobia will be heavily referenced throughout the story.</p><p>I want to be clear, even though I am straight, I absolutely adore everyone no matter what their gender or sexual orientation is. Nothing Naomi says or anyone else says is true. You are all beautiful people, and loving who you love or being who you are doesn't make you any less of a human. Some of my best friends are part of the LGBTQ+ community. You're all amazing. I love you guys, and I hope you accept me as an ally.</p><p>Thank you so much for reading. I love you all. See you soon!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello, everybody!</p><p>This is an exciting chapter. ;) I hope you like it. I certainly did, though I had to rewrite it 65,000 times. :( I figured it out eventually.</p><p>Enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div>
  <p>     <strong>Nine</strong></p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     The summer before senior year, if possible, sucked even more than junior year itself had.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     For one, Castiel left to go to a summer camp for most of it. Two, Sam was finally hitting puberty and Dean had suddenly become decidedly uncool. Worse still, John was only getting meaner and more violent.     </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     To fill the emptiness of the days, Dean worked four jobs instead of three. He was too exhausted at night to really feel the punches John threw at him, too tired to notice the fact that Sam stayed the night at friends' houses more than he was home.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He rarely saw the sun anymore, his caramel brown tan melting to his normal pale gold. The shadows underneath his eyes seemed deeper by the day, and he could barely look himself in the mirror anymore.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     So he worked. And he worked. He cleaned an empty house, earned money that was drained down a bottle only days later. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     In the rare moments Dean had nothing to do, nothing to clean, nothing to distract himself with, he sat in his corner of the empty bedroom he shared with Sam and stared at the small stack of pictures he kept hidden in a hole underneath his mattress.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Photos, taken from his Polaroid.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Some were of his little brother, laughing and floppy-haired and happy. Some were of Dean, caught in the act of doing something stupid or taking a selfie with Sam.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Most were of Castiel.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Pictures taken when he was laughing.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Pictures taken when he was smiling.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Pictures taken when he had a stupid look on his face.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Pictures taken when he least expected it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Pictures taken when he was talking about or looking at something he enjoyed greatly.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     And that first picture, the one of him laughing about Dean's ridiculous sentence. <em>Say 'fleas'</em>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Unexpectedly, the smile that had formed on Dean's face fell away.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He wondered if Castiel would laugh now, if he said the same thing. He didn't think so. They'd stopped laughing as much at stupid things over the years, had stopped smiling at every little moment.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     It made him sad, to look at that picture. The smell of the creek in the heat of the summer, of Castiel's minty shampoo when his hair got wet, of the hot grass and warm evenings. . . It all came rushing back.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     <em>When did it change? When did it start to hurt?</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean sighed and put the pictures down, wincing as he stood. His ribs ached like a motherfucker, and his head was throbbing with lack of food and exhaustion. All he wanted to do was curl up on his lumpy, too-small mattress and fall asleep, but he had work in fifteen minutes.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Groaning a little at the stiffness in his body, he hid the pictures again and went to work.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel came back one Thursday night a week before school was set to start.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He didn't call. He didn't text. He threw a rock at Dean's window in the middle of the night, startling the young man so badly he thought his heart was going to burst from his chest.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     His first instinct was to look for Sammy and make sure he was safe, but then he remembered: Sam was at a friend's house.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean crept silently out of bed, peeking out the window.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     His heart simultaneously lifted and sank.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel was waiting outside, the one thing Dean had been waiting for the entire summer. But he looked tired and sad. There were shadows underneath his eyes, and his clothes were rumpled and scuffed.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean opened the window. "Meet me in the back."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He didn't dare take the Impala. John had managed to stay semi-sober that day, mostly because they hadn't had enough money for another night of drinking. Dean was being paid the next day, but his back still stung from the belting he'd received.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     A semi-sober John meant that he wasn't prone to sleep through the rumble of the Impala's engine if Dean took it to drive them somewhere. That meant that they had to improvise.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean found Castiel standing in his backyard, waiting. He didn't comment on his friend's haggard appearance, instead gesturing for him to climb on top of a stack of boxes. Once that was accomplished, he led the way across the rotting roof of their garden shed and climbed up onto the roof of the house, careful to avoid any shingles that creaked.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     When they'd reached the crest of the roof, he sat down and waited for Castiel to sit beside him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "I have beer," his friend said, holding up a bag. Dean raised his eyebrows.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     For one, Castiel sounded like he'd already drunk half the bag. For another, he <em>never</em> drank. Castiel never did drugs. He never had sex. He never did anything that might be illegal. He never did <em>anything</em> remotely dangerous or, in Dean's opinion, fun.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Why?" Dean asked.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Do you not want any?" Castiel asked, sounding pissed off and annoyed.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean held out a hand in answer, accepting a bottle. He was careful to stay silent for a few minutes. There was obviously something very wrong.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "What happened, man? Are you okay?" Dean finally asked, albeit tentatively.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel didn't reply, just cracked open his own bottle and drank deeply. When he finished, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Yet another odd thing. Castiel never used his hand to wipe his mouth. He was all about cleanliness.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean resisted the urge to grab his friend and shake him, to demand, <em>What the fuck have you done with the real Castiel?</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>     But he remained still and calm, knowing that Cas would talk when he wanted to.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Finally, Castiel sighed.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "I wasn't at summer camp."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Where were you?" Dean asked.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "A conversion camp," Castiel replied tiredly, slurring the 's' just a little.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean froze.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     <em>A conversion camp.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>     In the silent August night, crickets chirped. Fireflies buzzed. Cars drove past in the nearby city. And Dean's whole world came crumbling down.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     <em>Cas is. . . Cas is gay.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p><em>     Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh</em>shit.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "You're gay?" he blurted.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "No," Castiel replied, words clipped and angry.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean swallowed, unable to hear or think past the roaring in his head. He. . . <em>wasn't</em> gay? Then. . . why-<em>how</em>-</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Why'd you go, then?" he forced out, unable to keep himself from spewing his idiocy all over the place. God, he was such a dumbass!</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     But Castiel didn't seem angry anymore. Just. . . tired.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "I don't know. I don't know anything, Dean, okay? I asked my brother, and he said it was fine! But my parents say it's not, they say it's a sin, for fuck's sake! And the counselors. . . they only seemed to agree. They told us it was horrifying, that we're disgracing everyone we knew," Castiel sounded like he was on the verge of tears. When Dean looked over at him, he saw that his friend was gripping his hair with his hands, looking so lost and pained that it hurt Dean's heart.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "I'm sorry, Cas," he said quietly.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "What do you think?" Castiel demanded suddenly, staring at Dean. His dark hair was wilder than usual, sticking up in odd places. It made the manic look in his blue eyes seem even more insane.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "I. . . I don't know," Dean said, mind scrambling. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    What <em>did</em> he think about being gay? </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel was staring at him like he held the secrets of the universe. It made Dean’s mind scramble even more desperately.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean swallowed thickly. "I. . . I don't think there's a problem at all. I mean. . . love is love, right? Whether you love a man or a woman or. . . or anything else," he finished lamely.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     And maybe it sounded stupid to him, but Castiel was staring at him like he'd hung the moon and the stars. "Really?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Yeah," Dean replied, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "I mean. . . I have no problem with it."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel blinked, looking a lot less sad and a lot more in control. "In that case, maybe I'm a little gay."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean laughed, a little buzzed from the drink, a little giddy with relief, a little hysterical with the realization that his best friend was gay.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     <em>More than best friend</em>, something whispered.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     <em>NO!</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean took a mighty gulp of beer, figuring if he got drunk enough, he could forget that thought had even crossed his mind.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     They sat in silence for a while.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     “What're you gonna tell your parents?" Dean asked after they'd drunk nearly all the bag and were listing where they sat.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     “Nothin’," Castiel slurred, raising his bottle of beer in a drunken salute. "They can go stick one up their asses. Lucifer and Gabriel were always better parents th’n them anyway."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean laughed, though he felt a small flicker of doubt slither through his gut.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Beer was liquid courage. What if Castiel woke up tomorrow and realized that he didn't want to flip the middle finger to his parents? What if he woke up and allowed himself to be told that he was wrong and unclean again? What if he changed his mind?</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     <em>Doesn't change the fact that he's gay.     </em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>     Doesn't change the fact that I'll still support him, whatever he decides to be.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean swallowed the last of his beer and reached for another, setting the empty bottle back into the bag.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "You're beautiful."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean looked up at Castiel, too drunk to really register what he'd just said. The moonlight turned the ends of Castiel's hair silver, making it look like he had a halo.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean laughed drunkenly. "You too."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel grinned at him, lopsided and wobbly.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He leaned forward a little, his breath ghosting across Dean's lips.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean stared at his friend's mouth, swallowing thickly. Castiel's lips were chapped and pink, and Dean really wanted to press his own to them. He wanted to find out how Castiel tasted, how he sounded and felt. Would he kiss into Dean’s mouth, or would he wait and allow Dean two explore his first? How would his lips feel, pressed against Dean’s own?</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean leaned forward a little too, their noses mere centimeters from each other, breath stained with alcohol mingling in the warm August night.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean could feel electricity fire through him, seeming to charge the air around him. Where he and Cas lingered near each other, the electricity seemed to spark.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel breathed, and Dean swallowed thickly as he took in the emotion in his friend's deep blue eyes, the same color as the center of the midnight sky above them. He was staring at Dean intently, those beautiful eyes shining with that unnamed emotion that seemed to echo throughout Dean's entire being.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     His muscles jumped, and he leaned forward ever so slightly, brushing the tips of their noses together.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Only a few more inches. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean leaned in, eyes still on Castiel's.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     A car drove past in the street, rumbling past and shattering the soothing quiet that had seemed to envelope the two boys like a bubble.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel pulled away just as Dean leaned forward, covering the action by taking a swig of beer. Dean flushed with embarrassment and took a gulp of his own beer, drunken mind swirling as it tried to process what the hell had just happened.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "So," Castiel blurted abruptly, shattering the awkward air that had descended, "what have you done this summer?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     It mangled the rest of the emotions that had been lingering. The boys proceeded to talk, to speak about everything but the problem.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     They got so drunk that night that when they woke up the next morning, neither remembered what had happened.</p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Oh my GOD, boys, it's not that HARD. . .</p><p>Well, maybe it is. ;)</p><p>ALSO, AN IMPORTANT NOTE: I will be going on vacation (my first in three years, yay!) west to the coast. I will be gone until Friday, Saturday at the latest. I will post immediately when I get home, don't worry. I just wanted to tell you so that no one gets worried about me messing up the posting schedule. I live by that thing, okay? I didn't really leave you on a cliffhanger, so I don't feel TOO bad. . . Anyway, just wanted to let you know.</p><p>Thank you so much for the continual love and support. I adore you people, seriously. ;) See you in a week!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello, everyone! I'm back! I had a wonderful vacation, thank you so much for all your kind comments. I really love all of you. ;)</p><p>I have a happy chapter for you! Well. . . as happy as it will get for a little while. I have a funny story for you at the end too. Enjoy the chapter!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div>
  <p>     <strong>Ten</strong></p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     After that night on Dean's roof, they never talked about Castiel being gay again.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Of course, there were references made. Jokes, usually cracked in the heat of the moment. Castiel didn't mind. He was too busy being grateful for his friend, for how accepting and understanding he'd been.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Of course, that all changed when Dean got his first boyfriend.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     His name was Benny Lafitte. He was a big blond boy, and he was the co-captain of the wrestling team with Dean.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Suddenly, Dean's jokes and teasing and understanding all made sense. He was bisexual, and he liked both men and women.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Benny was nice. He was gentle and quiet, and he made Dean flush prettily when he was near. He kissed Dean's knuckles and treated him right and went fishing with Sam.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He was perfect.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     And Castiel hated him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He didn't really know why. He just felt a dark pit of anger and hurt whenever he saw Dean’s new boyfriend. Benny hadn't said more than a few words to Castiel, forever polite and sweet. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean confronted him several times, asking why he was such an asshole, why he hated Benny so much. It reminded Castiel of when Dean had been dating Lisa, and he hated it. He hated Benny, he hated his feelings, he hated Dean, and he hated himself.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Because he knew what the feeling was. Yes, it was anger. Yes, it was hurt.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     But it was also jealousy.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     <em>Castiel</em> wanted to be the one to kiss Dean's knuckles. He wanted to be the one to make him blush, wanted to be the one to kiss him gently on the cheek and put his arm around his shoulders and go to the movies with him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He wanted to be that person so badly, it hurt.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He would lay in bed some nights and stare at the ceiling, overwhelmed by the hurt in his heart. Overwhelmed by the ache in his chest, the Dean-shaped hole that had been punched through it. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel cried sometimes. Cried because it was wrong to feel this way about his friend. Cried because he wanted his friend to feel that way about him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Cried because it hurt.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     It hurt when Dean called him a 'brother', a 'friend'. It hurt when he didn't look at Castiel with that same light he did when he looked at Benny. It hurt when they fought, when Dean stormed off with tears in his eyes and Castiel watched him go, knowing exactly who would get to hold him in their arms while he cried.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     It hurt.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     It hurt <em>so bad</em>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel would cover his mouth, body shaking with the force of his sobs. He would close his eyes, press them tight, and beg a God that he didn't really believe in anymore to help him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     And maybe God was listening, because Benny moved away halfway through senior year. His sister, Andrea, had gotten hit by a car and died that winter, and his family was moving back to Louisiana.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean was sad for weeks after he left. It was one of the worst times of Castiel's life, because when he tried to comfort his friend, Dean just shouted that Castiel was probably happy, that he didn't care.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel <em>was</em> happy. But that didn't mean he didn't care.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     And he wasn't happy because Dean was sad. He was happy because now he had a chance to be the one to hold Dean as he cried. Except now that wasn't going to happen, because Dean was angry and Castiel's parents were watching his every move, waiting for him to slip and say something even remotely related to being gay.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean eventually called him, though it wasn't to apologize.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel drove the old Lincoln Continental his parents had bought him for his sixteenth birthday to Dean's house, held his friend while he cried himself to sleep in his arms, shaking and bleeding because he'd been fired from one of his jobs and John had beaten him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     When Dean woke, he apologized to Castiel. They made up, though Castiel didn't think Dean was really all there when they did. His eyes had a glazed, far-off look in them, and Castiel worried that he had a concussion.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     When he said so, Dean had clutched his shirt. "No! No, no concussion," he insisted, slurring his words a little. "'M fine. Just need some sleep. Hafta' work, hafta' make money. Can't let him. . . can't let him. . . hurt. . . Sammy."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He drifted off again, exhausted, and Castiel let him. He took Dean's head into his lap and threaded his fingers through his hair and cried, because there was nothing and no one who could shatter his strong, sarcastic, witty, brave best friend faster than John Winchester.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel closed his eyes and pressed his face into Dean's hair, breathing in his scent. Citrus shampoo, oil from the mechanic shop, and that sweet scent that was uniquely Dean. He felt the warmth of Dean’s body, the softness of his hair, the way he breathed against Castiel’s body.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     After a moment, Castiel jerked away, glancing around as if his parents were somehow watching him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean woke soon after.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He told Castiel that he had over ten thousand saved in his bank account, the result of years and years of saving and earning and scraping together enough savings to do. . . something.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "What are you going to do with it?" Castiel asked.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "I don't know," Dean admitted quietly, staring straight ahead at the dark road they sat on.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel sighed, unable to really imagine what to do with the money either.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     So they did nothing. They said nothing. They watched the sun rise in the east, like they'd done too many times before, and then Dean climbed out of the car and walked home.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel managed to get him a job at the ice cream parlor where he worked, and Dean was back to earning enough money to keep up with John Winchester's drinking habits.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     They spent the evenings scooping ice cream and flirting with customers to get better tips, teasing and laughing like the old days.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Of course, something had to come along and fuck it all up.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     That thing came in the form of a massive poster sprinkled with enough pink glitter, Dean made a gagging noise as they passed it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Prom? Seriously? Already?" he asked, making a face at the poster.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "It is springtime," Castiel murmured. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean snorted. "I am <em>not</em> going to prom."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Three weeks later, he texted Castiel.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     <em>Dean: You going to prom next week?</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel swallowed thickly and stared at the text, wondering how to react.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     <em>Yes, will you go with me?</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>     No, he couldn't ever say that. He was sure Dean would freak, and Castiel wasn't willing to risk their relationship on some stupid crush. A crush that had been in effect for over two years. . .</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     <em>No. I can't ask him that.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Instead, he exited the conversation and pulled up a message from a girl who had asked him to prom a few days ago. Daphne Allen.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     <em>Daphne: Will u go to prom with me, Castiel? ;)</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>     Castiel: Hello, Daphne. I apologize, it seems that I had lost my phone. I would love to go to prom with you.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He exited, feeling a little guilty about lying, and responded to Dean.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     <em>Castiel: Yes. Are you?</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean responded a few seconds later. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     <em>Dean: Yep! Who are you going with?</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>     Castiel: Daphne Allen.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     There was a long pause. Castiel frowned at his phone screen, tapping it to keep it from going dark as he waited.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Finally, Dean's response bubbled into existence. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     <em>Dean: Oh. She's nice.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel frowned even deeper, unable to figure out what his friend intended with that message. On the one hand, it sounded as if Dean was angry or annoyed. On the other, Dean was never very good at texting or emotions in general.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Still, something didn't feel right.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel quickly forgot as he suddenly got a flurry of texts from Daphne, all excited and accompanied with multiple exclamation marks.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Sighing, he began to respond to each and every one, already planning how the night would go.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     On Prom Night, Castiel dressed in a dark blue suit and went to pick up Daphne.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     She looked pretty, but he didn't really care. Still, he tried, because she was a nice girl and he didn't want to be an asshole. So he complimented her and laughed with her parents and took her to dinner.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     And then he took her to prom.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     They made it into the school, the dimness turning their dark blue clothes black. Daphne was wearing a blue dress with a silver sash, and she looked nice. Castiel couldn't help himself, however, from glancing around the crowd of gathering students.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Who are you looking for?" Daphne asked, sounding a little hurt.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "My friend," Castiel replied.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     That seemed to make her pout more, but Castiel didn't really care. He desperately wished Dean was here; his friend always helped him with social interactions like this, and Castiel could feel his old awkwardness slipping through.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Um. . . Do you want to go take a picture?" he asked.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     She smiled and nodded, looking excited again. Castiel allowed Daphne to drag him to the long line for the photo booth, smiling politely as the cameraman took his pictures.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     When they got to the dance floor, Castiel tried to juggle dancing with Daphne and looking for Dean at the same time.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He didn't manage it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     She must have caught him looking one too many times, because she suddenly stopped dancing and stepped back, angry.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "What's wrong?" Castiel asked, confused.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "You!" she cried over the pounding music. "You keep. . . I don't know, looking for someone! Is it another girl? You should have just gone with her!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "No, that's not-"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "I'm leaving. I'm getting a ride home with my friends," Daphne said, looking like she was on the verge of tears.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Wait, I-</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     But she was already gone, pushing her way through the crowd.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel stood alone in the middle of all the dancing people, embarrassed. Some people were giving him sympathetic looks, but he couldn't bring himself to meet their eyes.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He winced as the song changed and suddenly became a slow dance. Great. Just perfect.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     As the music floated through the air, the dancing couples began to get into position. The boys put their hands on the girls' waists, and the girls put their hands on the boys' shoulders.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel swallowed, lingering awkwardly at the edge of the crowd. He looked like an idiot. His date had dumped him. Dean wasn't here.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He considered going home, but before he could, a familiar deep voice spoke up behind him. "Where's Daphne?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel turned and just about died.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean was standing at the edge of the crowd, leaning casually against a pillar decorated with lights. Their golden glow played on his face, lighting his green eyes from the inside. He was wearing a simple black suit, but the way the tailored lines fit his toned body made Castiel's jaw clench.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He swallowed thickly.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Hello, Dean."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     And yes, his voice was <em>definitely</em> deeper than he'd intended. But it only made Dean chuckle. "I asked you where Daphne was," he said, voice careful.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel blinked, the words registering. "She's. . . she left. Said I was looking for another girl or something."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     <em>That</em> made Dean laugh, made him throw his head back and clutch his stomach.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel frowned at him. "It's not that funny, Dean."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     His friend stopped laughing, wincing. "Yeah, you're right. Sorry, Cas."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel shrugged and glanced awkwardly back at the crowd. When he turned back around, Dean had come off the pillar and was standing right in front of him. Castiel jumped.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean laughed quietly, barely audible over the slow lull of the music.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Such a shame she left right before the slow dance," he said quietly. "Seems pretty awkward."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Despite the closeness of his friend, Castiel laughed. "It is."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean licked his lips, looking at Castiel with an unnameable sparkle in his eyes. Castiel raised an eyebrow, inviting.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean looked away, smiling. "I didn't come with a date," he said.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Perfect," Castiel replied, breathing the word out. He waited until Dean looked back at him before asking, blurting out the question before he could lose his nerve. "Would you like to dance with me, Dean Winchester?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean's mouth fell open in a small 'o'. For a moment, his green eyes darted away and his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Then he regained his composure. "Sure. But only so you stop standing here like an awkward stork."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel laughed, then stopped as he realized that the slow song was still going, the couples still swaying around them.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He reached out and took Dean's hand. His skin was warm and dry, and Castiel held it tighter than was probably necessary.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean reached out and clasped his other hand, bringing it up in the air next to their faces.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel laughed and gently directed it a little farther out. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Do you know how to dance, Cas?" Dean asked shyly.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Yes," Castiel replied, stepping in the correct form, smiling amusedly as Dean stumbled after him. "Good for both of us, since you don't."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean flushed deeply, cheeks coloring scarlet in the dim light. Good <em>God</em>, he looked beautiful. Castiel didn’t even feel guilty about that, either.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     At Dean’s blush, Castiel laughed softly. "Don't worry. I'll teach you."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He gently showed Dean the way the steps went, smiling as his friend followed, albeit clumsily. The slow song continued, floating through the air around them. Castiel held Dean's hand tightly in his own, warm and hard with construction and mechanic work.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He chanced a glance at the crowd of people around them, flushing with embarrassment as he caught a few of them staring.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Don't worry about it, Cas," Dean said quietly. "It'll be fine. They know we're just friends."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel nodded, turning back and smiling faintly at him. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Really, though, it didn't seem that bad. The people who stared seemed trivial compared to the brightness in Dean's green eyes, the way they sparkled and danced. When they turned at a certain angle, the lights caught the gold flecks in the center and sent them flickering like little coals.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     <em>He's so beautiful</em>, Castiel thought.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean was still smiling at him, still believing that everything Castiel felt for him was platonic. That Castiel wasn't infected with sickness. That he wasn't thinking disgusting, unholy things about him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel swallowed and tightened his jaw.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Hey," Dean said, bringing Castiel's attention back to him. He smiled, revealing perfect white teeth. "Don't worry about it, alright? Whatever you're thinking about. . . just listen to the song."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel smiled, trying to mask the withering inside himself. He obeyed, closing his eyes and listening to the song, feeling the warmth of Dean's body heat, the steady cadence of his steps. He was dancing like a natural, now that he knew the rhythm.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He could have danced with Dean all night long, but the song ended eventually and he had appearances to keep up. So he let Dean release his hands, let him throw a friendly arm over his shoulders and laugh it off. He made sure to make plenty of disgusted, joking faces so that anyone who had seen would believe it was merely a joke.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Because that was all it was.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Anything more, anything harbored deep in Castiel's chest. . . that was unholy. Sin.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     So he kept laughing, found Daphne and apologized and danced with her afterward. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     And he pretended like he didn't wish it was Dean in his arms instead.</p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Alright, funny story: My first Homecoming, freshman year of high school, I went with one of my awkward friends. It was, like, the epitome of 'awkward prom', even though it was Homecoming. When the slow dance started, he didn't even want to dance with me, so I ended up standing there awkwardly in the middle of all these dancing couples by myself. It was humiliating.</p><p>Thankfully, my neighbor came by and was like, 'This won't do', so she danced with me through the slow dance. It was entirely platonic (I think) and was actually really funny, but I will forever be grateful to her for that. </p><p>ANYWAY, that inspired this scene, with far more sexual tension and two handsome young men instead of an awkward yahoo like myself. I hope you enjoyed it. ;)</p><p>I will see you all soon! I'm back to regular posting now, every three days. :) Love you all!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello, all you beautiful, amazing people! How are you today? ;)</p><p>I have another chapter! This one is definitely a lot shorter, but it is also very important to the plot. Big changes coming! I hope you enjoy it. . . :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p></p><div>
  <p>     <strong>Eleven</strong></p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Though they'd made up and were friends again, it didn't mean that the rest of the year was easy.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean nearly failed math and history, but he managed to pull through with some late night studying, later night classes, and extra credit assignments finished at three in the morning.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He nearly had to go to the hospital twice, a result of John's increasing violence.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     In the quiet moments they managed to steal together, Dean confessed that he was worried to Cas. Not only was John getting angrier and meaner, he was getting more violent. He'd even pulled a knife the last time, but Dean didn't tell his friend that.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Cas urged Dean to leave again. This time, he received a different response.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     <em>Wait, Cas. Just wait. After graduation, I'll do it.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel made him promise, and Dean did.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     They'd avoided the subject after that. There were far more exciting, uplifting things to talk about, after all. Castiel shared that he'd received a letter from Stanford University, inviting him to study there on a full scholarship.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "I'd major in physics," Castiel said one night, when they were laying on the Impala's hood and waiting for the sunrise.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Of course you would," Dean replied affectionately. "You'd be the smartest there too. God, I'm so proud of you, Cas."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel smiled bashfully. "Where would you go?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean winced, thinking of the grades he still needed to bring up. "I don't know. At this point, I'm not even sure a community college is going to work out," he confessed.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel frowned. "It could."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Nah," Dean said. He shrugged. "Don't need a degree to work in a mechanic shop or a restaurant, just a high school diploma. I just need to earn enough money to get Sammy through high school and college. I'll figure it out from there."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "What are you going to do about John?" Castiel asked.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean sighed. "I don't know. Just. . . just wait, alright? We'll figure it out."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     As it turned out, he needn't have worried about it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     When Dean had turned eighteen that winter, John had filed for him to be the guardian of Sam if something ever happened. Dean forgot about that fact until the night he graduated.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     John didn't come to his graduation, but Sam did. He hugged Dean fiercely, shouting about how proud he was of him. Dean laughed and tried not to cry, so relieved that he was holding his diploma in his hands.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel only congratulated him once, acting cold and distant the entire time. Dean knew it was because his parents were watching him like a hawk, but it still hurt something inside him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He brushed it off, though, slinging an arm across Sam's shoulders. His brother was growing like a little beansprout, a fact Dean found both endearing and terrifying.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean drove them home after the ceremony, and when he walked in the door, he felt his world shatter at his feet.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     John Winchester was lying on the floor in the kitchen, dead.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Later, when the medics managed to get a moment to speak to Dean, they told him that he'd died of alcohol poisoning.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     John Winchester had drunk too much too fast and collapsed, puked, and suffocated. He'd died on the filthy kitchen floor in a puddle of his own vomit.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean couldn't even find it in him to feel sad, though Sam cried at the funeral. Dean was just too shocked and, secretly, too relieved.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     After a short court appointment, Sam's guardianship was transferred to Dean.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Then the Winchesters found themselves with an empty, broken down house, ten thousand dollars, the Impala, and an open road in front of them.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     When Dean called Castiel and told him, his friend drove over immediately.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     They went up to the creek and sat at the edge, talking over their plan of action now that they'd graduated.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "We could go down to California," Castiel said. "We could rent an apartment together, split the rent. Dean, you and I could find work, and I could go to school at Stanford in the fall."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean licked his lips, unable to deny how good that sounded.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     But. . . "Sammy?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Sam had been quiet since John's death, but he spoke up now, voice scratchy and just getting deeper. "What else can we do, Dean? There's nothing here for us but old ghosts."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean sighed. Sam was right. Castiel spoke a lot of sense. And he couldn't deny the fact that his heart was begging him to leave this damned town, to pack up and flip the finger to the house that had trapped and held him for so long when he'd been growing up.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     So he sighed and looked over at Castiel. "Alright, Cas. Sounds like a plan. But what are you going to tell your parents?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel shook his head. "You let me worry about that."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     That was how the Winchesters found themselves packing what little belongings they wanted to keep and loading them into the trunk of the Impala.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean slung on his father's old leather jacket, which he’d received for his eighteenth birthday, unable to part with the thing even now. He turned and stared back at the old house a final time, a mix of emotions flowing through him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He debated saying goodbye, flipping it the finger, or breaking down and crying on the front steps.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He decided on doing nothing, instead doing a last check and going to join Sam in the car.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Let's get out of here, yeah?" he asked his younger brother.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Sam, excited by the prospect of a new adventure, nodded excitedly. "Yes!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean smiled at him and revved the engine, pulling out of their driveway for the last time.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     As they drove through town, a wave of memories assaulted him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     There was the trail that led to the creek he and Castiel and Sam had spent so many summers at. There was the ice cream parlor where Castiel had worked. There was the high school. There was Sam's middle school. The mechanic shop. The construction site. The convenience store, where they'd spent pocket change on candy. The road to Castiel's house, where Dean had driven so many times.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     And lastly, as they were driving out of Lawrence for the last time, Blu Hill.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean smiled up at the small mountain, memories of watching a sunrise on Castiel's seventeenth birthday flashing through his mind.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "What are you smiling about?" Sam asked curiously.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Nothing," Dean replied. He smiled at his brother. "Let's go meet up with Cas."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     They drove along the road to the gas station they'd agreed to meet at. Castiel was waiting for them, leaning against his ugly tan car.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Is that a <em>trench coat?</em>" Dean asked as he climbed out of the car.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel squinted in confusion at him. "Is there a problem?" he asked, in that sinfully deep rasp.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean snorted and shook his head, beginning to fill the tank of the Impala. "None at all, Cas."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     They drove out of the gas station together, driving side by side on the empty highway until another car appeared and the Impala sank back behind Castiel's Continental.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     They drove over a hundred miles away from Lawrence, Kansas, before stopping for the night, making sure to cross the border before they stopped driving.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     When they were sitting in a motel room in Somewhere, Colorado, Dean made a realization that had him cursing softly.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Fuck. Fuck, fuck, <em>fuck!</em>" he growled under his breath, desperately checking the duffle bags by the door.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "What's wrong, Dean?" Sam asked from across the room, frowning worriedly. He and Castiel came over to the elder Winchester, watching as he frantically flung their belongings on the floor, searching desperately.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Dean, what happened? Is everything alright?" Castiel asked, kneeling beside his friend. He was shocked to see tears in his green eyes. “What’s wrong?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "I forgot them," Dean said quietly. "I forgot the pictures in the mattress in Lawrence."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "What?" Castiel asked, confused. "What pictures?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "The Polaroid pictures, Cas! I forgot them in the mattress where I hid them," Dean said, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes to prevent the tears that had gathered from falling.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel paused for a moment, glancing up at Sam. The younger Winchester just shrugged and shook his head, long brown hair flopping this way and that.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel sighed. "Alright. Dean, it's going to be okay. Dean, look at me. Please."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean pulled his hands away from his face, eyes frustrated and teary.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel put his hands on his friend's shoulders, smiling. "It's okay. It isn't the end of the world," he whispered reassuringly.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean looked angry and conflicted for a moment longer. Then he sagged tiredly and nodded. "Okay."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel smiled and tipped his head down toward where Dean's Polaroid camera was packed away in its box.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Besides," he said, smiling, "we have so many years to make more."</p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Oh no, John is dead. I'm so sad. I never saw that coming. Wow. I am SO sad right now. I might go cry fake tears.</p><p>ANYWAY, I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Now we have our three boys all in one place! Doesn't that sound fun? No more awful, homophobic parents or *insert profane, horrifying description words* fathers. Yay! The boys can finally be on their own!</p><p>Alright, that's all I've got. I'll see you all soon! You're amazing. ;)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello, beautiful people. :) I hope you're all doing well.</p><p>This chapter is short and sweet. It's a great insight into the boys' new lives, and I hope you enjoy it. I'll share some of my favorite parts at the end. ;)</p><p>Enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p></p><div>
  <p>     <strong>Twelve</strong></p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     The apartment in Palo Alto was tiny.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     There were only two bedrooms, and after a long argument that nearly ended in Dean and Sam throwing punches, it was decided that Cas and Sam would take the two beds and Dean would sleep on the couch. There was also one bathroom, which the boys had to figure out how to share in the morning. The kitchen was so small that only two people could fit in it at one time without risking a disaster, and the air conditioning didn't work.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     It was immediately Castiel's favorite place in the whole world.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     It took Dean about two days to get a job. Two jobs, actually. He worked as a mechanic at a shop in the city by day, then drove across the small town to a tiny diner and worked as a waiter there at night. He left before Castiel or Sam woke up and was home just in time to cook dinner for them to eat at seven thirty.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel got a job too, though the hours at the library were far more flexible because he had to incorporate time to study for his upcoming freshman year at Stanford.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     The jobs paid better, as the minimum wage was higher, but the cost of living was too. Some months, Dean had to work overtime and Castiel had to study on the job because they had to make rent. Sam always tried to help by doing odd jobs and mowing lawns, and both older boys pretended that the pocket change helped.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     That summer was one of the busiest of Castiel's life. He couldn't believe how much everything <em>cost</em>, and how every little thing was money out of their pocket. For the Winchesters, however, it was the same reality they'd lived with for years.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel had told his parents what he was doing, that he was 'shacking up with the Winchester boys', in Naomi's words. They'd been disappointed by his choice of roommates, but they hadn't done anything ridiculous like disowning him, which they'd done to Lucifer.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     They also hadn't given him hundreds of dollars in pocket money, like they'd done for Michael, but Castiel's oldest brother had always been the favorite anyway.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Besides, there was something satisfying about earning your own way through the world.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Still, Castiel couldn't believe how much money textbooks cost. He and Dean had searched online for the right ones, then outright cringed when they'd seen the price tag.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "It's fine," Dean had said. "I'll just get another job."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     They both knew that was nearly impossible. The oldest Winchester was already working thirteen hours a day, six days a week. Castiel juggled work and studying too, and with all their effort, they were barely making enough for rent and groceries.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "It's fine," Dean said again. "We'll just eat light for a few weeks."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     'Eating light' meant eating practically nothing and getting their electricity cut for two weeks, but they managed to pay for Castiel's textbooks. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     They both agreed that they would save the thousands Dean had left in his account for when they really desperately needed it. For now, they could go without a few creature comforts.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Things got both better and worse when school started. They got better because Castiel was eating as much as he could at the college campus, fueling up on the free lunch and breakfast they offered. Sam ate free breakfast and got reduced price lunches at school too, so they could afford less groceries.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     The downside of school was the fact that Castiel couldn't work as much, and that the transportation fare went way up now that all three members of the apartment had to get across Palo Alto every morning.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Worse, when Sam had school field trips or fundraisers, Dean always made sure they contributed. He and Castiel had many, many late-night arguments about it. Castiel didn't understand why Dean was so adamant about saving when he wasted money on stupid science field trips that Sam didn't really <em>have </em>to go on. Dean argued that he wanted Sam to have a normal childhood, that he didn't want him to feel left out because all his classmates were going on a trip that he couldn't afford.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     In the end, Dean always won. He was the major breadwinner in their little dysfunctional family, after all. That, and he always made up for it by pulling overtime hours out of his ass.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     So it went.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Christmas came, and Dean and Castiel worked enough to buy a phone for Sam, though it meant that both of them got crappy coffee cups from Sam and nothing else. Castiel didn't mind.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean didn't mind either, when all they could get him for his nineteenth birthday that January was an apple pie and a new ACDC T-shirt.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     And though they rarely saw each other except for 'family' dinners every Sunday night and random glimpses between overtime hours and studying on the weekends, they remained tightly knit. Because when Castiel and Dean and Sam <em>were</em> together, they were laughing and insulting each other and swearing and having fun. They were <em>family</em>. The first family Castiel remembered having.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Of course, family came with annoying habits and strange quirks. No matter how many times he was told otherwise, Sam left his books <em>all over</em> the house and always managed to leave his beaten sneakers right where Dean could trip over them at ass o'clock in the morning when he was getting ready for work. Castiel apparently played 'two songs on repeat' that annoyed Sam and Dean to no end, though he had no idea how anyone could ever tire of 'Good Old Days' and 'Simple Man'. And Dean sang loudly at ridiculous hours of the morning, insisted on watching crappy old Western movies, and sometimes spent more time with his car than with either of the other two combined.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     But they made it work.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     They made it work, even when the heating shut off mid-winter. It was warm enough in California to barely need more than a jacket most nights, anyway. And in the summer, when they couldn't afford air conditioning, they managed to buy enough electric fans to make sure they didn't outright <em>die</em>. Somehow, Dean always had a backup box of mac and cheese, and they always managed to distribute it evenly between the three of them, even if it was one box and the only thing they'd eaten all day.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Life was harder, uglier, dirtier, and more work than Castiel had ever experienced it, and he couldn't remember a time when he'd been happier.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Because even though they were barely eating anything some nights, he was eating with two of his favorite people in the world. Even though they couldn't afford air conditioning when the summer heat climbed to triple digits, some of Castiel's best memories were spent in just his boxers, crammed into the tiny bathtub with the two Winchesters and as much icy water as they could afford.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He and Sam made it through their first year of school, and they all made it through their first year of living on their own in California. To celebrate, they bought a pie and ate it while alternating between old Western movies and nature documentaries.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     That summer, it was back to grinding hard. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean got raises at both his jobs, and Castiel was promoted to a senior librarian, but the cost of rent rose at their apartment complex. Sam was growing too, and he ate an ungodly amount of food that was nearly impossible to keep up with.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Still, they managed to make a <em>tiny</em> bit more than the last summer. They had a <em>tiny</em> bit more a cushion going into the school year. Enough for Dean to buy Castiel a violin from a discounted instruments store that he had been eyeing for months.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel was so happy when he unboxed the instrument that he had hugged Dean and nearly kissed him for good measure. He hadn’t played violin since he was a child.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     <em>Nearly</em> kissed him. Castiel could never.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He still had nightmares from the conversion camp.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean had nightmares too, Castiel knew. Sometimes, when they were both awake at ungodly hours of the morning because of their dreams, they just sat on the couch and held each other, taking comfort in each other's warmth and scent. Most nights, they'd sit until morning came, until they could watch the sun rise in the east and know that their terrors would fade with the shadows.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     They never talked about it the next day.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Still, Dean knew that Castiel woke in the middle of the night, shaking and sweating, memories of shouting and humiliation ringing in his ears. Castiel, in turn, knew that Dean jerked awake and shoved himself into the nearest corner, terrified that John Winchester would be there to beat him to a pulp again.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     In the morning, when the shadows slipped away underneath the rising sun, their fears seemed foolish and trivial.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Sam never knew.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     That was fine. Castiel had never been an older brother before, and he found that he was strangely protective of the young boy. He got angry when he heard that Sam had been teased at school, felt proud when he came home with straight As. Castiel puffed with pride when he went to a parent-teacher conference with Dean and was told that Sam was at the top of his class and predicted to attend Stanford in two years. The only person prouder of Sam than Castiel was Dean.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Their brotherly bond was close, forged from years of fear and pain and shared survival. Castiel sometimes felt a twinge of jealousy, directed mostly at Sam. Dean placed a level of trust in his younger brother that Castiel knew he could never hope to be given. He still tried, though, even if Dean sometimes bypassed his room to speak with Sam about a problem instead.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Whenever the jealousy threatened to overcome him, or when the stress of paying bills and rent and taxes mounted to something unbearable, Castiel always took out his violin and managed to forget about it for a little while.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Some days were worse than others. Some days Castiel wondered if it was better to run back to Lawrence with his tail between his legs and become a priest like his parents wanted him to. Some days Castiel wanted to strangle his childhood best friend, wanted to grab him and beat his face bloody. Some days Castiel wanted to curl in a ball and cry, wanted to just stop fighting for a little while.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     But he always remembered who he was fighting for. Why. He remembered the teenage boy in the room next to him, the young man that he had grown so close to sleeping on the couch across their tiny apartment.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     And he always took a deep breath and calmed himself. Because he would stick it out for the Winchesters. They were the best thing that had ever happened to him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Sure, life was hard and gritty and <em>impossible</em>, sometimes.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     But all Castiel had to do was look around the tiny dinner table they all crammed themselves around every Sunday night and remember. Life may be tough, but he wouldn't have had it any other way.</p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Okay, can I geek out about Castiel and Dean going to a parent-teacher conference for Sam? That is honestly SO ADORABLE. XD I loved the idea.</p><p>Anyway, that's all I have. These next few weeks are going to be pretty crazy for me, as I'll be juggling school, violin lessons, two jobs, and extra classes. I'll still find time to post, though. I promise. ;)</p><p>You're all incredible! I'll see you soon. Stay safe, happy, and healthy! (Insert heart emoji, because I can't access that on my computer).</p><p>;)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello, everyone! How are you all doing?</p><p>I almost forgot to post today. School has just started (online), and my teachers have NO idea what they're doing. We're all struggling to do something as simple as turning an assignment in. I found myself complaining yesterday, because my cousins get to go to school and I don't. XD It's crazy how much has changed. . .</p><p>Anyway, I managed to get some time to post. I have class in thirty minutes, and I should really be preparing, but this is more fun. ;) I hope you enjoy the chapter!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p></p><div>
  <p>     <strong>Thirteen</strong></p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Unfortunately for the Winchesters-plus-one-Novak, life got harder before it got better.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean would later thank God that Sammy graduated before all the bullshit went down. In fact, he seemed to have gotten out just in time.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     The truth was, a few days after the huge celebration they had when Sam and Castiel graduated, their apartment contacted them and told them that they were shutting down. The city health administration had come through and deemed the apartments inhumane and unlivable, and they had given the complex four weeks to get everyone out.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     That found Dean, Sam, and Cas moving to a different, tinier apartment across the city.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     They were now farther from Stanford, meaning that they spent more on bus fare and gas than ever. More than they could keep up with, especially now that the cost of living was rising higher than the minimum wage could contend with.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel was forced to immediately get a job teaching at the local high school, instead of going back to get a real teaching degree so he could be a professor. He assured Dean that it was fine, but the oldest Winchester could still tell that he wanted to be going with Sam when his younger brother finally packed his bags and headed to the campus.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     The only bright spot was that Sam had received a full scholarship to go to Stanford. They'd offered housing, so he didn't have to cram himself into the three room apartment that Castiel and Dean now shared. Dean insisted that his younger brother keep whatever money he made at the store where he worked, pointing out that he and Cas couldn't fund pocket money or field trips anymore.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     It was true. Their landlord had gotten used to receiving rent one or even two weeks late, something they consistently threatened Dean about. He always put on his most charming smile and promised to get it in on time the next month, which never happened.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Between Castiel's teacher's pay and Dean's minimum wage jobs, they were barely making enough to buy groceries.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     When the rent rose again to accommodate a fall in the economy, Dean and Castiel were forced to cut back even more. They were already forgoing heating and air conditioning. At this point, they either had a roof over their heads or food in their stomachs.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel said it was fine, that he could wake up an hour earlier and walk to school instead of driving like normal.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     It wasn't fine.    </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Both Castiel and Dean were showing signs of the constant stress. They rarely saw each other, and when they did, they were either too tired to talk or too frustrated to do much more than argue. Dean wanted to use his savings, but Castiel disagreed. He told Dean that they were saving the money, though for what, neither of them knew.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean never really pushed it farther, usually because by that time it was nearly midnight and he had to wake up in four hours to get to work.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     So life went on. The crash in the economy got worse, the rent rising. At one point, Dean found an eviction threat in their mail and promptly threw up in the bathroom, though he never told Castiel that. They paid the rent two days later.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean and Castiel were able to stay mostly afloat, though they were barely scraping by. Then everything went to shit one evening in early March.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel looked up from where he was grading papers at the coffee table, watching as Dean came in. His face fell when he saw him, and Dean was too beaten down and exhausted to really feel offended.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Dean, I am always thrilled to see you, but why are you home early?" Castiel asked. His voice was flat and dead. Resigned, like he already knew.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     When Dean spoke, he realized distantly that he didn't sound much better. "You know why."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Which one?" Castiel asked tentatively. There was a fearful note to his voice, and Dean hated to hear it. He ached to pull Castiel into his arms or cry on his shoulder, but he forced himself to collapse in a chair beside his best friend and put his face in his hands.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He meant for his voice to remain steady, but the single word he uttered came out breathy and choked. His throat was unbelievably tight. It was nearly impossible to speak. "Both."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel didn't say anything, just stared at the papers he was grading blankly.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Why?" he finally breathed out.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "The mechanic garage is a family-owned business," Dean said flatly, voice a little stronger now. "If you aren't someone's brother or cousin, you're not worth keeping. The diner had to close. They weren't able to keep up with the raise of rent and price of goods."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel joined Dean in hiding his face behind his hands, and Dean could tell from the way his friend's fingers trembled that he was seconds away from crying.     </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean felt close too. His eyes were hot, his throat closed up and tight. It was a good thing, he realized, that he was so choked up. If he hadn't been, he was fairly sure he would be screaming right now.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     As it was, they both stayed sitting at that tiny table in that tiny room in the tiny apartment in shocked silence.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Finally, the question.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "What do we do?" Castiel breathed out. "How. . . How do we keep going?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean closed his eyes, shaking his head. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     He tried to stay strong, tried to hold back the tears that threatened, but when he peeked out from between his fingers and saw the defeated look on Castiel's face, he broke.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "It. . . It wasn't supposed to be like this," he whispered, voice shattered. Castiel's shining blue eyes flicked to his, holding oceans of pain and understanding. Dean sucked in a shaky breath, closing his eyes against the tears burning hot inside them. "It wasn't supposed to be so <em>hard</em>. Even w-with Dad, it wasn't this hard."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel shook his head, unable to speak.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean sucked in another breath, the tears finally spilling over and sliding silently down his face.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "I don’t. . . know how much longer I can do this, Cas," he confessed. "I don't know how much longer I can keep fighting."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean sobbed, the noise surprising him. It was raw and painful, tearing free from where it had been lodged deep in his chest these last few months.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     After a moment, warm arms circled around his shoulders. They were heavy, and Dean couldn't resist even if he had wanted to. He sank down, out of his rickety chair and to the cold, crappy tile of the tiny kitchen where the table they had been sitting at was located. Castiel must have been too exhausted to get back into his chair after he’d climbed out to hug Dean. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    That was fine. The floor was fine.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     It was fine.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     They were fine.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean and Castiel sat there, on the floor, crying quietly.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "I know," Castiel breathed out into Dean's hair, tucking his face into his shoulder. "I know. It's so. . . It's so <em>real</em>. I never thought it would hurt so much."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean laugh-sobbed. "Yeah," he agreed, voice choked. "Me neither."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     They stayed like that for a long time. Long enough for the late afternoon sunlight to slowly bleed from the room, for the shadows to slowly creep into a blanket of darkness over them.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "What do we do?" Castiel asked after a while, long after their tears had run dry, long after the point of exhaustion.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean sighed shakily, closing his eyes against the damp fabric of Castiel's shirt. He knew he was going to hate what he said next, but he also knew that they really had no other choice. Still, the words tasted bitter when they emerged from his mouth.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "We could sell the Impala," he offered quietly.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel tightened his arms around Dean. "No," he whispered. "We're not that desperate. Not yet."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean laughed, a dry, awful noise. "Cas, we're crying on the floor of an apartment the size of a shoe box that we're going to be kicked out of next week if we don't pay the rent."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel chuckled dryly into Dean's hair. "Such an optimist," he murmured.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean couldn't help it; he smiled, just a little. "Okay, Mr. Sunshine. What do you think we should do?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel sighed, pulling away and looking into Dean's bloodshot eyes with ones that were equally puffy. "Well, we could start with paying this month's rent. You're right, it was due last Sunday."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "How?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "I get paid tomorrow," Castiel murmured into Dean's hair. "I can try to smuggle some cafeteria food home and you can eat that. We'll just forgo our usual grocery run."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean sucked in a shaky breath. "Okay. But we can't live off of cheese that's 60% plastic for the rest of our lives, Cas. What do we do after that?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel sighed. "We could ask my pare-"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "I would rather sell the Impala," Dean interrupted. “What about the savings I have?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Dean, the second we start using those, we’re going to use them up until they’re gone. We were saving that for when we’re really desperate,” Castiel said quietly. Dean just gave him a look. Castiel sighed, closing his eyes. He thought for a moment, then looked at Dean with a sort of sparkle in his blue eyes.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    It was the kind of sparkle that Dean hadn’t seen in a long time. The kind that meant trouble. The kind that meant they were about to go do something or try something that they might regret later. Memories of summers by the creek and eating ice cream and watching the sunrise suddenly flooded back to Dean.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    That little sparkle in Castiel’s eyes meant an idea.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     “Alright, how about this?” the dark-haired man asked. “We see if we can make it one more month on whatever solutions we can come up with. If we make it, we make it. If we don’t, we use your savings. Deal?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean made a face, but he nodded. “Deal. As long as you have more ideas than whatever we’re doing now, because it’s not working."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel inhaled shakily, running a hand through his already-messy hair. “Right. I have some silver jewelry in my trunk from when I turned eighteen; we could sell that."     </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean breathed in and out as slowly and steadily as he could, regaining control of himself and his emotions. He straightened, no longer melting into Castiel, and wiped his eyes.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "Okay. Okay, we can do that. And I'll go to the major businesses nearby and ask if they need a. . . a janitor, or something," Dean said.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel was nodding. "And we'll go through the newspaper every day and look for job openings."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean nodded too, hope stirring in his chest. "We'll figure it out. We'll make it work."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel smiled shakily, pressing his forehead to Dean's. In that moment, neither boy cared that the gesture wasn't entirely platonic.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     "We always do," Castiel whispered.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Dean nodded in affirmation and they stayed like that, just breathing each other in, their foreheads pressed warm against each other.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Neither moved for a very long time.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     The economic depression, while 'brief', lasted about thirteen months.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     In that time, Dean worked twelve hours a day doing odd jobs and cleaning various office buildings around the city of Palo Alto. Castiel worked hard to keep up with the normal high school hours, plus the night classes he had started teaching.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Things got only slightly better when Castiel discovered plasma donation, and that led to Dean and Castiel giving blood twice a week and earning $110 dollars between them. It was enough to pay for meals while the rest of their money went to rent and bills, but when taxes came around that April, there were sometimes days when they subsisted off of a single meal each.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Despite everything, they made it through. Soon Dean was being accepted at two more jobs and wasn't needed as a handyman at the various office buildings. They started to pay rent on time, and they were able to afford groceries again.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Things got easier when Castiel got a pay raise, courtesy of a strike his fellow teachers had gone on. He hadn’t been able to afford joining them, but he’d benefited from the three weeks his coworkers spent protesting when his pay was raised slightly. The increase in income allowed both men to breathe a little easier, allowed them to buy Sam a new leather jacket and a gift card to a coffee shop on campus for his birthday in May. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    That summer, their first without Sam, was a struggle in many ways. They fought constantly to make rent, to feed themselves, to keep their small comforts like Castiel’s violin and Dean’s Impala. Castiel worked at the library to make up for the lack of pay from teaching.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean keenly felt the lack of Sam’s presence that summer. It was missing in the hot, quiet hours of the summer weekends, when they were both off work and couldn’t manage to get any overtime hours or odd jobs to make living a little easier. His bright laughter seemed to echo faintly in the walls of the tiny apartment, and there was a Sam-shaped hole next to them when they managed to get enough time off to sit down and read or talk at their small dining table.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Sam called often, kept them updated on the classes he was taking at Stanford. He was studying pre-law, something Dean didn’t really understand but supported anyway. Why did it have to be <em>pre</em>-law? Why couldn’t he just become a lawyer?</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel tried to explain it once, but Dean zoned out halfway through and earned himself a smack on the shoulder for his trouble. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Despite their struggles, the Winchesters-plus-one-Novak survived. Sam came home for a few weeks that summer, though he mostly stayed on campus as much as possible to save Dean the trouble of sleeping on the floor in their apartment. He had taken the couch again when they didn’t have a visitor, and Cas took the single tiny bed in the even tinier bedroom. When Sam came to stay, he slept in Castiel’s bedroom and Castiel stayed on the couch. Dean always slept on a pile of blankets on the floor beside him. He didn’t mind, especially with Castiel so close.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    When Dean slept on the floor, he woke in the morning with aches all over his body. He never slept well down there, and he was always either too cold or too hot. But Dean knew, secretly, that he would sleep on the floor every night if it meant Castiel was snoring softly only a few feet away, face calm and angelically beautiful in sleep.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Yes, despite all the trials and tribulations that came with living by themselves for the first time, Dean still hadn’t lost the now-familiar flutter in his stomach when he saw his friend. If anything, it had evolved into full blown butterflies, borne whenever Castiel laughed or smiled or even breathed. Dean was convinced his best friend was the most perfect human being to ever walk the earth, and he felt immensely guilty every time he caught himself staring or thinking about him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Despite the borderline abuse he imposed on himself, his feelings for Castiel didn’t go away. Not even when his friend met a fellow teacher and went on a date with her, something they could barely afford but managed to anyway. Dean didn’t think he’d ever felt more bitter and hateful than when he was working overtime to pay for the dinner Castiel had treated her to.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Her name was Meg, and she was a pretty brunette who taught senior math. She seemed to be quite taken with Castiel, whom she called ‘Clarence’, but she only had a brief, cold smile for Dean when he met her one time. He didn’t like her, but Castiel did.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He took her to dinner at a restaurant and Dean worked overtime hours to make up for it. Castiel even had the nerve to go back to her place that night.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>It isn’t like you’ve never dated before</em>, Dean told himself, sitting alone in their empty apartment that night. <em>You were practically a whore in high school, fucking anything that moved and showed even an ounce of interest. Besides, Cas deserves to be happy and you most certainly cannot provide that for him</em>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>   Still, despite Dean’s best efforts to convince himself, he was still disgustingly satisfied when Castiel came back the next morning and admitted that it was an ‘okay’ date. ‘Okay’, meaning that he wasn’t impressed and wouldn’t be doing it again.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    And the thank-you pie that Dean got for helping Castiel to pay for the date? Dean wasn’t sure he’d ever had a sweeter dessert in his life.</p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I know, it's kind of sad right now. It will get better, and then it will get much worse. ;)</p><p>Also, if you're wondering: YES, Castiel is gay. He's being an idiot right now and trying to suppress it, which we will see more of in the next chapter (which is in his P.O.V.). I wanted to make that clear, just in case.</p><p>PLEASE tell me if there are any mistakes/inconsistencies in my writing. I try to edit as much as possible, but stuff slips through the cracks. I hate when there are mistakes that take away from the overall writing, so please tell me if you spot any.</p><p>Thank you so much for reading and being amazing! In a platonic way, I fucking love you! ;)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello, everyone! You are precious and amazing!</p><p>Also, if you live in California (United States), I hope you're safe! We're getting a lot of smoke from you guys right now, and it's pretty awful, so I can't imagine what it's like for you guys. :( I hope everyone is staying safe and healthy.</p><p>Alright, I have another chapter for you. This one is one of my favorites. ;)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p></p><div>
  <p>    <strong>Fourteen</strong></p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    That winter, determined not to be caught off guard by another fall in the economy, Castiel and Dean decided to finally work toward a more substantial source of income. They dipped into Dean’s virtually untouched savings that they’d been reserving for when they desperately needed it and bought a small building on the corner of one of the streets in the city. It wasn’t far and it wasn’t big, but it was enough.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel brought out his trunks of old books and loaded them onto some shelves that they’d found in an alley one night. They were in good shape and didn’t look too shabby once Dean had scrubbed the dirt off the metal.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    On January 24th, Dean’s twenty-fourth birthday, Seraph’s Used Books opened for business.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Their business, at first, was terrible. Some of their customers couldn’t afford to pay with money, so they exchanged used books instead. But slowly, as the news started to spread, they gained popularity. Castiel borrowed a loan from Lucifer’s tattoo parlor upstate and bought a coffee machine. After that, their store became a registered small business and Castiel was able to quit his job at the library.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The profits off the store paid the bills for the first half a year. Sam came in during the summer to help as a non-paid volunteer. Dean worked there whenever he could get a break from his other two jobs. He’d been promoted at the diner where he worked, which was a huge weight off both mens’ shoulders. Dean still worked as a waiter, as he was too charming and friendly to be anywhere else, but he was paid far better.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    All in all, it seemed that for the time being, they were going to be alright.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The used books store made an acceptable profit. They managed to move out of their tiny apartment and rent a larger one, somewhere where they both had a room and the kitchen wasn’t so small that Dean could touch both walls without stretching. When Sam finished his sophomore year that summer, they were able to take him out to a celebratory dinner at a nice restaurant instead of subjecting themselves to their usual shitty microwave food or Kraft Mac ’N Cheese.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Life was good.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Of course, that didn’t mean it didn’t come without complications.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Both men worked hard, and sometimes when they were tired and stressed, they clashed.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    It usually happened regarding the used books store. Dean and Castiel had very different ideas on how to run it. For the most part, they were able to come to an agreement, or at least a compromise, but sometimes they argued. Castiel often insisted on changing the decor around the store, saying that it looked shabby and ugly. He was, of course, thinking of what his parents might think if they were ever to pay the boys a surprise visit. They’d been hinting at that in the past few ‘check-ins’ they made, and he was secretly terrified.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean knew what they thought of their second-youngest son running a used books store instead of being a doctor or a lawyer or a physicist. He told Castiel that they could shove it up their asses, and verbally, Castiel agreed.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    But on the inside, he sort of felt like they were right. They were his parents, after all.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He tried again one June night, after collapsing breathlessly onto the floor of the closed shop. He and Dean had spent the last half an hour unloading heavy crates of books that they’d received from a library across the city that had been forced to close down. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Don’t you think we should repaint the interior? Choose a different color of gray or something?” Castiel asked, eyes closed, arms still shaking from heaving heavy boxes around. He’d been thinking about it as they’d walked in and out, carrying the crates of books.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Why?” Dean asked, looking equally as exhausted. He’d spent the day working hard at the diner. It was always busier on Friday nights.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I just figured it could use a happier color,” Castiel replied innocently.    </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “The customers we have seem to like it,” Dean said. “Why waste money on something that doesn’t need to be fixed?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I think it’s ugly,” Castiel mumbled.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He winced, wishing he hadn’t said that. He hoped that Dean hadn’t heard him, but those hopes were dashed when the Dean opened his half-lidded eyes and glared at him from his position leaning against the wall a few feet away.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “You do? Do you think it’s ugly, or do you think your <em>parents</em> would think it’s ugly?” he asked, hitting the problem right on the money.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel gritted his teeth. “Contrary to your favored belief, I am not tied to my parents’ every opinion and whim.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Really? Because that doesn’t seem to be the case right now,” Dean said. He seemed to register the tension in Castiel’s body and he sighed, sagging a little. “I left them in Lawrence, Castiel. You should too.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I <em>did</em>,” Castiel growled, feeling hurt and angry. Dean may have backed down, but he was suddenly ready to fight. How <em>dare</em> Dean think that? “I left them for you and your little brother. I ran away from my family so I could start a new life, here in California with you.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Oh, do you miss it?” Dean asked. He was getting fired up again. Castiel winced, realizing he’d hit a nerve. “Do you miss your mansion and your servants?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “We never had servants,” Castiel hissed. “Not like you would know anything about being even remotely wealthy.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “No,” Dean agreed, voice as flat and dead and venomous as his green eyes had gone, “I wouldn’t. I’m much better suited for this kind of life, don’t you think, <em>Cas?</em>”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The poisonous way Dean said his name had Castiel flinching. “Dean-“    </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “If you know so much about being wealthy, why are we sitting here, Castiel?” Dean demanded.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel gritted his teeth. “You say that like it’s my fault.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I’m the one who works two jobs!”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “And I run this Goddamned store! Jesus, Dean, don’t you know I get <em>tired</em>-“</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “If you’re so tired, why don’t you run back to Lawrence and your wealthy parents and your posh mansion!” Dean shouted, standing. Castiel stood too, so angry he could barely see. Everything else seemed to have hollowed out, tunneling in to this infuriating man in front of him and the white-hot fury in his chest. “Stop slumming it here with me!”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I would if I could!” Castiel shouted back, not meaning it, but wanting to see that hurt flash in Dean’s eyes all the same. “But I can’t!” He couldn’t believe Dean’s <em>nerve</em>. How could he say something like that?</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean, who had recovered from his hurt and now practically had steam coming from his ears, clenched his hands into fists. “Why not? I’m certainly not stopping you. I’ll help you pack your fucking bags right the fuck now if that’s what it takes to get you out of here!”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “They won’t take me back because I chose to leave them in the first place with <em>you!</em>” Castiel roared, flinging his arm in a wide arc in a fit of rage.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean flinched, so hard that he nearly stumbled back into the rack of books that they’d just finished sorting.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel froze, feeling as if someone had dumped an ice cold bucket of water over his head. The feeling of red-hot rage dissipated faster than he could have thought possible.    </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Dean-“</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “No,” Dean choked out, angry and hurt and maybe even embarrassed. “Just don’t.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Dean.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I said <em>shut up, Cas!</em> I’m leaving,” Dean growled, turning.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel had half a mind to let him go, to stay in this dimly lit, empty store and cry by himself.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    But he couldn’t. Not yet. He’d hurt his friend, and he needed to make things right.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Dean, <em>stop</em>.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel reached out and grabbed the Dean's arm, physically pulling him back. Dean raised his hand, as if to fight back and pull away, but at last second he dropped it and just sagged into Castiel’s embrace.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel released a shaky exhale and let his knees give out, allowing them both to sink to the floor of their empty shop.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I’m sorry,” Castiel breathed into Dean’s hair. “I would never hurt you. <em>Never</em>.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I know,” Dean said quietly. He sounded so small. It made Castiel’s chest twist. “I just. . . we were shouting and you were right there and I couldn’t. . . I couldn’t stop myself. I’m sorry.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “You have <em>nothing</em> to apologize for,” Castiel whispered. He squeezed Dean tight in his arms, closing his eyes tightly. “It’s not your fault. We never should have been shouting anyway.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I know. I. . . I don’t want you to leave,” Dean said quietly. His was voice soft, pleading Castiel to understand. “Please don’t leave.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I won’t,” Castiel replied, mouth brushing the top strands of Dean’s hair. They were stiff with gel, and Castiel thought fondly of the mornings when Dean had only just woken up and hadn’t had time to put anything in his hair yet. Still, underneath the stench of artificial products, Castiel could smell the familiar scent of <em>Dean</em>. He buried his nose in his friend’s hair. “I won’t leave you. Not unless you want me to.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I don’t,” Dean said with finality.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They sat like that for what felt like hours, curled around each other on the floor of their empty shop. Castiel rocked them gently back and forth, eyes closed. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He wasn’t able to deny to himself how good it felt to cradle Dean in his arms. Everything about him was perfect. He fit perfectly, smelled like the perfect combination of <em>safety</em> and <em>home</em>, sounded perfect when he breathed quietly and steadily. Castiel closed his eyes, shut out the whispers of <em>sin</em> and <em>sickness</em>, and just relished the moment. Dean was alive and breathing and safe in his arms, and everything was quiet and soft and warm.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    For now.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel tightened his grip a little, feeling the shift of lean muscles and slender limbs just on the too-skinny side. When Dean breathed, his chest expanded and pushed on the circle of Castiel’s arms and his breath puffed warm against Castiel’s shoulder.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The world was quiet, save for the rumble of a few passing cars. Everything was peaceful. Castiel closed his eyes, enjoying it. He knew it wouldn’t last long.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean exhaled a shaky breath and spoke after a while. “I do have something to apologize for, though. I never should have said those things. Any of them. I don’t think you’re spoiled or anything, and I know that you’re trying. God, you’re right. You basically run this store on your own anyway.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel laughed shakily. “You work two jobs. You’re up before I am, and I wake up before the sun. And I’m sorry for what I said too. God, I’m such an idiot.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean snorted, circling his arms around Castiel and squeezing reassuringly. “Guess we’re both idiots, huh?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel smiled at him, tired and exhausted though he was. “I suppose we are.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They never talked about that night in the store again, but Castiel began to take notice of Dean’s demeanor when they argued more often. He realized that Dean got quiet and defensive when he began to mix the past with the present. Whenever that happened, Castiel called a timeout on their argument and they ended up cuddling for the rest of the night.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    In the back of his mind, Castiel registered that it wasn’t something that ‘normal’ friends did, but he always justified the action by thinking that they had been through enough to give them an excuse to act differently than ‘normal’.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Of course, that excuse didn’t explain the other parts of their relationship that wasn’t exactly normal, but Castiel tried not to think of those.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He tried not to hope, in the dark hours of the morning after a particularly brutal nightmare, that Dean realized their relationship was more than normal too. He tried not to imagine that the blush Dean sported whenever he was caught staring was anything more than platonic.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    It hurt more, Castiel was sure, because he <em>knew </em>that Dean was bisexual. Thankfully, both men had been too caught up trying to survive and pay the bills to really start a relationship with anyone. At least Castiel didn’t have jealousy to add to his internal storm of emotions. Really, it was bad enough. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Lately, it was getting harder and harder to pretend to his parents that he was being their idea of a perfect son. Naomi demanded that he call her on Sunday every week after church. Castiel never told her that he hadn’t been to church in over a year, unable to keep up with all the grading and overtime hours he had to work to help Dean make rent.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    She was already unhappy that he was a teacher, not a professor. She and Castiel’s father, Chuck, blamed ‘that rotten boy’ Castiel was living with. They reminded him every time he called that if he just moved back to Lawrence, his financial troubles could be over.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    As tempting as that was sometimes, especially when the stress of making rent grew hard and the only thing they had to eat were Uncrustables and Kraft Mac ’N Cheese, Castiel refused to move back. As much as it was hard living on his own, he was convinced that the freedom of it was worth it. Besides, if he moved back to Lawrence, he would never see Dean again.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean had made it clear that he’d left Lawrence far behind him. He reacted with disgust whenever they got an email inviting them to a high school reunion, and Castiel knew that he had enough nightmares that even stepping foot in that town wasn’t a good idea. Castiel was sure that both of them should probably see a therapist or something, but they had neither the time nor the money for that.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Where Castiel found comfort in playing his violin, Dean found solace at the bottom of a bottle. He never, ever got blackout drunk, just enough to give himself a pleasant buzz. Dean rarely drank more than enough to get himself tipsy, something Castiel was grateful for. If there was one thing that was good about John Winchester, it was that he had beaten the chance of becoming an alcoholic out of his son. Dean refused to even drink the same whiskey or beer that his father had.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Still, Castiel was sure that his own coping mechanism was far healthier. He had gotten good in the past few years, a product of too many nights of sleep ruined by a nightmare he woke screaming from. He still dreamt that his mother would find out that he secretly <em>was</em> gay inside, that she would send him to the camp she’d sent him to before and he’d be shamed just like all the other little boys and girls were. He also had nightmares of himself burning in Hell for thinking the way he did about D-about <em>men</em>, but Castiel’s treatment for them was all the same.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He’d wake up. Wash his face. Change out of his sweat-soaked shirt. Castiel would open his violin box and immediately start playing.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    It was loud, sure, but Dean was usually up by then too, either roused by Castiel’s screams or already up from dreams of his own.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They never talked about it, but Castiel always managed to play a few songs and the fall back asleep. He never learned what Dean did.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Castiel blinked and shook his head, drawing his eyes away from the strong column of Dean’s neck. His best friend had fallen asleep on the couch, exhausted after a long week of working hard. It was early November and they were both strained from the extra workload that came with the holidays drawing near.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel was tempted to just cover Dean with a blanket and let him sleep, but he knew that the aches and pains he would sport in the morning weren’t worth it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    With a sigh, he turned off whatever crappy show they had been watching and gently shook his friend’s shoulder.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Wha’? F’ck you, Cas,” Dean slurred sleepily, groaning in exhaustion. Castiel snorted and shook his head in amusement.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “You need to sleep, Dean.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “‘M ‘sleep,” Dean grumbled.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “In your bed. You’re going to be sore in the morning,” Castiel replied, unable to keep the smile from his face. “Come on.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He helped Dean stand and stagger to his room, pulling off the other man’s flannel and tucking him in with gentle care.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Goodnight, Dean,” Castiel said, standing to leave.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “St’y?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    It was a question, and Castiel knew what the slurred word was before he could really register what it meant. He swallowed, hard.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>Stay?</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Stay? Stay and do what? Fight against the inevitable, the thoughts and rebellious whisperings from his heart that begged him to take off his shoes and climb into the bed beside Dean? Lay next to him and struggle with his inner demons until his own desperate need took over and he pulled Dean into his arms?</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    No. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    No, Castiel couldn’t.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Sorry, Dean,” he said quietly, though the words felt like poison in his mouth. “I’ll see you in the morning.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He left the room with a heavy heart, grateful that Dean was too exhausted to protest and too out of it to remember the next morning.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He never said another word about it, and Dean never knew.</p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>:)</p><p>Don't worry, it's all coming together. The next chapter is fantastic.</p><p>I hope all of you are feeling okay. I know some of you are stressed, and I'm sorry for that. Remember to take a deep breath and eat something, alright? You people are amazing.</p><p>Also, thank you to TornadoAli75, Pilot_on_Puto, hollyblue2, Why_do_you_want_to_know, reesespuffs1, Steelcode, gradientsyd, and psekile for continually being so kind and supportive. Your comments make my day. ;)</p><p>See you all on Saturday!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter 15</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello, everyone! I hope you're all doing well!</p><p>To everyone who is being affected by the wildfires in California, central Washington, and everywhere else: I hope you're doing okay! We're still getting smoke from down in California, and the sky is orange today. I hope everyone is healthy and safe.</p><p>Aside from that, I wanted to thank TornadoAli75 for warning me about some mistakes I had in my writing. My computer's formatting is really weird, and I can't seem to figure out how to fix it. If you find any mistakes, please don't hesitate to tell me!</p><p>Alright, enough of that. I think you'll really like this chapter. It's short, but. . . well, you'll see. :) Enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p></p><div>
  <p>    <strong>Fifteen</strong></p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    That winter, during Sam’s junior year at college, Castiel caught the flu from one of the germ-balls that he called ‘students’.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    It didn’t help that the apartment was freezing. They could fully afford to pay for heating, but it was broken and the desperate landlord had promised that it would be back up again in a few days. As a result, they were forced to huddle in a freezing apartment under layers of blankets with a space heater that didn’t do much more than churn the cold air around.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    One night in late December, eating takeout on the couch, Castiel sneezed.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “You aren’t getting sick, are you?” Dean asked. It was the fourth time in the past five minutes his friend had done so, and he’d complained of a sore throat that morning.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “No,” Castiel replied, sounding stuffy. “I got my flu shot a few weeks ago.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Are you sure?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Yes, Dean. Let me eat my noodles in peace,” Castiel grumbled.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean snorted. “Fine. As long as you aren’t sick. I don’t want to hear about it, especially if it’s from one of those terrors you call children.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I don’t have the flu,” Castiel insisted.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel had the flu.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean came home the Friday before winter break, exhausted and fully ready to dive under a pile of blankets and watch Dr. Sexy reruns for the rest of the day. That plan was ruined, however, when he entered the apartment.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean wrinkled his nose at the smell of sickness and misery. “Cas?” he called. “Castiel?”    </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    A moan answered from deeper in the apartment, and Dean winced. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He dropped his bag by the door, all thoughts of relaxing completely gone, and hurried to the bathroom.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Cas? You alright? Are you-oh, <em>shit</em>.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean stood in the doorway, looking in on his friend bent over the toilet, sick and shaking. “I think I. . . I think I caught a bug,” Castiel panted.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Yeah, no shit, buddy,” Dean replied. He sighed, thinking hard. “Hang on. Let me get some stuff. I’ll be right back.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He hurried into the kitchen, tearing open the fridge door to peer in at its contents.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Shit,” Dean cursed. They definitely did not have the supplies needed for this.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Thinking fast, he grabbed a bucket from under the sink and headed back to the bathroom.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel was in the same place, still bent over the toilet. He groaned in pain, resting his sweaty forehead against the porcelain.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Can you sit up for me, buddy? We have to get you to bed,” Dean said, putting the bucket down. He was experienced with caring for sick people, as Sam hadn’t always had an incredible metabolism.    </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel simply groaned in pain.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean sighed and grabbed his friend’s shoulders, gently directing him to his feet. Castiel leaned heavily against him, most of his weight supported on Dean. Dean helped him stagger through the apartment to his room, pulling back the covers of his bed.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He sat Castiel down on the edge of the bed and helped him undress out of his teacher uniform and into a soft shirt and some sweatpants. Castiel looked so miserable that Dean didn’t even have it in him to eye the man’s toned stomach.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He helped his friend lie back, covering him with as many blankets as he could reach for the moment. He placed the bucket next to Castiel’s head.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I have to go to the store,” Dean informed his friend. “We don’t have any medicine or soup. I’ll be back soon, alright?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel moaned and nodded, unable to do much more than shift his head. He screwed his eyes shut, face sweaty and pale. Dean winced in sympathy and hurried to tug his shoes on, grabbing the keys for the Impala as he went.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He rushed to the small local grocer, hurrying down aisles to find the supplies he needed to take care of a sick person. The whole trip took about half an hour, and by the time he was finished, Dean was itching to get back to the apartment and Castiel.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He burst in and set the supplies down on the kitchen table, grabbing a thermometer as he went.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Dean?” Castiel gasped when Dean entered the bedroom. He was sweating even more than before, if possible, and his eyes were shining with fever.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I’m here, buddy. I have to take your temperature. Open,” Dean said.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He put the stick underneath his friend’s tongue, wincing at the absolutely miserable look on his face. Castiel closed his eyes, face twisted with pain.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean pulled the stick out once it beeped, wincing as he saw the number. 102.7.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “We have to cool you down, buddy. We can’t. . . We can’t afford the hospital. Not right now,” he said, wincing. He began to peel the covers off.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “C-Cold, Dean,” Castiel informed him quietly.        </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I’m sorry,” Dean replied. “I have to.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He dragged his friend out of bed and somehow managed to help him across the apartment and into the bathroom. Dean began to flood the tub with ice water and turned to his friend, helping him strip out of his clothes. Finally, when Castiel was in just his boxers, he lowered his friend into the water.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel yelped like a wounded animal and grabbed Dean’s arm the second he was in, nearly pulling his friend into the tub with him. “No! I s-said I was c-cold, Dean!”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I know,” Dean said gently. “I have to calm your fever. It’s okay, buddy. You’re gonna be okay.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel moaned pitifully, too weak to do much more than sag back into the water. Dean promised he’d be back and went into the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of Gatorade.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He came back into the bathroom and shut the tap off, wincing at the frigid temperature of the water. Castiel was shivering hard, even though his cheeks were still pink with fever.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Drink this,” Dean urged. Castiel didn’t reply, but he turned his face away. Dean sighed. “Please, Cas? You need the nutrients and minerals and shit.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Can’t. . . keep it down,” Castiel protested.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Just try,” Dean urged. “Come on. For me?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He pushed the bottle to Castiel’s lips and this time, Castiel was unable to do anything but open and swallow the sweet red drink.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean fed him small sips, wincing in sympathy at the violent shivers that wracked his friend’s body.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I feel horrible,” Castiel informed him.    </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I know,” Dean replied.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He sat with his friend for a long time, checking his temperature and feeding him sips of Gatorade when he could. Gradually, Castiel’s shivering ceased and his fever dropped from dangerous to manageable.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I think you can get out now,” Dean said.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel, who had been dozing lightly, opened his eyes and blinked in exhaustion. “Wha’?” he slurred.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Time for bed, Cas,” Dean said patiently.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He helped his friend up, getting himself drenched in the process, and practically carried him across the apartment to his bedroom. He helped Castiel change his soaked boxers, keeping his eyes firmly on the ceiling as he did. When his friend was dressed and nearly asleep standing up, Dean tucked him into bed.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Thanks,” Castiel slurred.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Of course,” Dean replied. “Just get some sleep.”    </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “You. . . b’here?” Castiel asked, sounding less and less coherent.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I’ll be right here,” Dean promised.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    With that, Castiel allowed his eyes to drift closed. With a soft sigh, he fell asleep.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean stayed up with his friend all through the night. Once, he had to grab a whole load of rags and soak them in ice water, then drape them across Castiel’s heated skin. For the most part, though, the fever stayed down.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Sometime around three in the morning, Castiel woke up and vomited all over Dean and the bucket he’d been holding, the spray mostly watery and stained pink because of the red Gatorade.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean patiently cleaned and emptied the bucket, wiped himself down, and gave Castiel some more Gatorade.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He kept the light in Castiel’s room turned off but the hall light on, creating a shaft of light that floated in from the doorway. The bed was still in shadow, but half of Dean was lit up with brightness from the hall.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Dean?” Castiel asked a few hours later, sounding disoriented and maybe even a little scared.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I’m right here,” Dean promised, grabbing his friend’s hand without thinking. Castiel released a soft whimper of pain and gripped Dean’s hand tightly.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean sighed and stayed where he was, though his eyes were scratchy with tiredness and he smelled like vomit. He couldn’t imagine the pain Castiel was in now, and his heart hurt for his friend.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Dean?” Castiel asked again a few minutes later. Dean managed a tired smile for his friend.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Yeah? Are you okay? Do you need anything, Cas?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel didn’t reply, just looked at Dean with eyes that were bright with fever. He seemed to look straight past Dean’s eyes and into his soul, ocean eyes shining.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “You’re so beautiful,” Castiel breathed quietly.    </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean froze, staring back at his friend. He didn’t dare to move, even as Castiel’s eyes slid shut and his hand loosened its grasp on his own.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean stayed frozen for what felt like hours, staring at his sleeping friend.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Finally, as the first rays of sunrise began to creep through the window, Dean whispered back, “You too.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    For the next week of Castiel’s sickness, Dean was mostly on his own. He friend was exhausted and slept for most of the time. When he was awake, he wasn’t very coherent. And he certainly didn’t remember what he’d said that first night.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean, of course, had every syllable burned into his memory.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>You’re so beautiful</em>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>   Dean had been called beautiful many times in his life. By women when they didn’t think he could hear, by men at bars, by girls at school. For the most part, the comment didn’t affect him. Sure, he thought it was strange to call a man ‘beautiful’. Handsome, maybe. Gorgeous, perhaps. But beautiful? No.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    But when Castiel called him beautiful, in that soft, awed tone. . . It was as if Dean’s whole world was a whirlwind and when his friend said those words, for a moment, all the chaos calmed.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>You’re being ridiculous</em>, Dean reprimanded himself during one of the long hours of sitting by his friend’s bedside. <em>He didn’t mean it. He was delirious with fever, damn it. He could have thought you were anyone. Daphne Allen, for God’s sake. He didn’t know what he was saying</em>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>   As true as Dean’s thoughts were, they didn’t change the fact that a vital part of him was desperate for what Castiel had said to be true.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>I’ve never been beautiful in my life</em>, Dean thought one night, curled up under a blanket on the floor beside Castiel’s bed. <em>But I’d be willing to be beautiful for him</em>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>   That thought scared Dean more than anything.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    To have feelings for his friend, to accept his bisexuality. . . that was small compared to the idea of throwing away eighteen years of programming for one man. Eighteen years of beatings and abuse and the idea that men were supposed to like women. That men were not beautiful. Men did not cry. Men did not feel. Men were not weak.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Men did not like other men.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    What did that mean? Did it mean that Dean wasn’t a man? </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>If it does, then that’s okay. If I’m not a man, I’d rather be whatever I am than a man without Castiel</em>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>   That was the other thing. What had changed? When? When had Castiel become the most important thing in Dean’s life, save for maybe Sammy? When had Castiel’s opinion of him held so much weight that Dean was willing to sway his own?</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He closed his eyes, brain whirling. Some small part of Dean wished that all this had never happened. That he could open his eyes and suddenly be back in his old, broken-down house in Lawrence.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Yes, John had been abusive. Yes, life had been hard. But it had also been simpler. Messing up equaled a beating. Working equaled money. Money equaled alcohol. Alcohol equaled no beating. Simple enough.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Here, now, there was so much more. There was rent, and taxes and bills and fines, but that was normal. What wasn’t normal was the pining. The feelings. The uncertainty. Because for the first time, Dean wanted Seraph’s Used Books to succeed. He wanted the store to succeed so that he didn’t ever have to see that worried line Castiel got on his forehead because they weren’t going to make rent that month. He wanted to be able to buy Castiel new strings for his violin bow without worrying about working a little extra to compensate for it. He wanted to be able to visit Sammy on campus without having to calculate how much gas they would need to get across town to the college. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    But more than that, Dean wanted things that had nothing to do with money.    </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He closed his eyes where he was on the floor of Castiel’s bedroom, listening to the steady, shallow breathing of his sick friend.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He wanted to get rid of that word, for one thing. <em>Friend</em>. Dean didn’t want to be friends. Not anymore.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He swallowed a thick lump in the throat, unable to go any farther with his thoughts. He couldn’t do that, not when the main character in his fantasies was suffering merely feet away.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>Stop being selfish</em>, Dean reprimanded himself. <em>Cas has enough to worry about. Your little unrequited crush will only add to his problems</em>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>   Dean left it at that, unable to face the little voice in the back of his head that whispered that his ‘crush’ might not be so unrequited after all.</p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>:) Here we gooo. . . I hope you enjoyed it! ;)</p><p>To the students who are working WAY too hard (I am one myself, don't worry): remember to drink water and eat and maybe try to do that magical thing called sleep. And no, it doesn't count when you eyes close during a sneeze. ;)</p><p>Also, is anyone else emotionally traumatized by the ending of SPN? They finished their last day of filming on Thursday! I was NOT prepared to see Jensen's goodbye video to the Men of Letters Bunker. :( I am so sad.</p><p>(And also still praying for Destiel to happen, because I'm a glass-half-full kinda person. ;)</p><p>See you in three days!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Chapter 16</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey, everyone. I hope you're all doing okay.</p><p>This chapter is sort of short, and it contains a panic attack of sorts in the middle. Please don't read if this triggers you. I can summarize what happens in the end notes if you need.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p></p><div>
  <p>    <strong>Sixteen</strong></p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel got better under Dean’s care. He felt well enough to get up and walk around about eight days after he initially fell ill. Of course, the act of simply getting out of bed and walking across the apartment to collapse on the couch had Castiel dizzy. But it was better than being unable to even sit up.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean sat on the couch with him, waiting until his heart rate had slowed and his breathing had calmed. Castiel groaned and wiped a hand down his face, swiping away the sweat that had gathered there.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I feel awful.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I told you not to get up,” Dean reminded him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Not ‘I’m going to vomit’ awful. I just. . . I dislike being so weak,” Castiel replied irritably.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “You’ve eaten nothing more than two bowls of soup and half a crate of Gatorade in the past week, Cas. Half of that you didn’t even hold onto,” Dean pointed out.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I <em>realize</em> that, Dean. I just hate being unable to even do a jumping jack without falling over,” Castiel growled. He saw the way Dean ducked his head in the corner of his vision and Castiel turned his head, frowning at his friend. “What?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Nothing,” Dean replied, but Castiel could tell there was definitely something wrong now. Dean’s voice was tight. Castiel glared at him impatiently, unable to figure out what was wrong with him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Doesn’t seem like ‘nothing’,” he grumbled.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Drop it, Cas,” Dean insisted. “Seriously, it’s nothing.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    It wasn’t nothing. Castiel stayed in the living area of the apartment, watching Dean go about his activities for the rest of the day out of the corner of his eye. Dean had positioned him with a bowl, a plate of food, a remote control, and a gallon jug of water on the couch and told him to drink all of it. Castiel was watching nature documentaries and trying to force down the water. He could keep it down, but his stomach was still weak.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel was tempted to take a nap on the couch, but he was more interested in watching Dean. He'd been acting decidedly strange all day.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He wouldn’t make eye contact with Castiel, for one thing. When he did, he looked away as quickly as he could. He tried to stay out of the living room as much as possible, but since the apartment wasn’t exactly large and the living room was the center of it, it was impossible to stay out for long.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel couldn’t make sense of it. He couldn’t remember much about the past week. It was mostly a hazy eight days of sickness and vomiting, but the one thing that remained constant was Dean. Dean had been there every single time Castiel had woken. Perhaps Castiel had said something that he didn’t remember?</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>Maybe he’s just upset because you were being a dick this morning</em>, a voice said in Castiel’s head. <em>He took care of you for a week and you haven’t even thanked him</em>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Dean?” Castiel called, pausing the documentary in the middle of the section explaining hummingbird nesting rituals.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    A few seconds later, his friend poked his head around the corner, not meeting Castiel’s eyes. “Yeah?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Can I talk to you?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean winced, unable to suppress it enough for Castiel’s sharp eyes not to catch it. “Sure.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He entered the room tentatively, as if walking into a lion’s den. Castiel waited until he had settled himself uneasily on the couch and looked him in the eyes.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I wanted to apologize for how I acted this morning, and I wanted to thank you for taking care of me. I know that it hasn’t been the easiest,” he said sincerely.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean relaxed minutely. “Oh, yeah,” he said, sounding relieved. “Yeah, sure, Cas. Don’t worry about it.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel frowned, watching him intently. “I also apologize for whatever I might have said when I was sick.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>There</em>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean tensed a little, shrugging. “Yeah, no problem.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel raised an eyebrow. “Actually, now that we’re on the topic, what <em>did</em> I say? I can’t quite remember.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean flushed bright red, dropping his eyes to the couch and fiddling with the corner of a pillow. “Oh, nothing. You just. . . nothing.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I just what?” Castiel asked. He was getting legitimately worried now. What could he have possibly said?</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Many, many possibilities were swirling through his head. He could have confessed his biggest secret. He could have ruined everything-</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “You didn’t say anything,” Dean replied. He was lying, Castiel knew. He wasn’t looking him in the eye, and he was fiddling with the blanket now. His forehead had that crease between his eyebrows that he always got when he was trying to think of a way out of a situation.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “That’s not true and we both know it, Dean,” Castiel said quietly.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean stopped fiddling with the blanket. He sighed, looking away. There was a pink blush across his cheekbones. Any other day, Castiel would have thought it was adorable. Now, though, it filled him with a sense of dread.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>What did I say? What did I reveal?</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “You. . . You said that I was beautiful,” Dean whispered, still looking at the table.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel stilled.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    His heart beat slowly to a stop, his breath freezing in his lungs.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>You are</em>, a crazy part of him whispered.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The rest of him, the rational, <em>normal</em> part of him, was screaming. Panicking.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    More than a decade of hiding. Numerous lies and half-truths, to himself and his parents and his greatest friend. Years and years and years and <em>years</em> of denial. Shameful moments in the darkness of the night when he was alone, ecstasy brought about not by the thought of a pretty girl but of the very boy—<em>man</em>—that sat in front of him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>He knows.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    He knows you’re a freak.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    He knows how you feel about him.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    He knows what you think about.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    He knows you’re disgusting.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    He knows you’re sick.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p><em>    He knows you’re</em> <em>a</em> sinner-</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Cas? I’m not mad, alright?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel blinked, staring at his friend. Dean was bright red, his eyes flickering between Castiel’s own blue ones and what must have been a very fascinating spot of old ketchup on their dining table.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “What?” Castiel blurted, unable to really comprehend anything.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I’m not mad,” Dean repeated, smiling hesitantly. “I kind of-“</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “How could you not be <em>mad?</em>” Castiel demanded, the words flying from his mouth with more poison than he had intended. “I’m. . . I’m <em>sick</em>. That’s a <em>sin</em>. To even think of men that way-“</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Does that mean I’m sick, Cas?” Dean asked calmly.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    And again, Castiel froze.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    No. Dean was not sick. Dean was not sin. Dean was perfect and pure and his soul was so, so incredibly bright. He was Heaven personified. He was beauty and light and love and laughter and. . . And he was gay.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>Bisexual</em>, a random part of Castiel’s brain corrected. <em>He’s attracted to both men and women</em>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>Only halfway sick, then</em>, another part of his mind giggled.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his hands to his head, as if the act of putting an incredible amount of pressure on his skull would silence the voices.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “You’re not sick,” he forced out, because it was true. Dean was incredible. He deserved the world. He was <em>beautiful</em>-</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>NO!</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Then you aren’t either.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “What?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel held up his hand, stopping Dean from repeating what he had just said. He needed a second to decipher the thoughts in his head, to distinguish between them and Dean.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “You are not sick, Dean Winchester,” Castiel said with finality. That much he knew.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “If I’m not sick, then why are you?” Dean asked.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel shook his head, not wanting to untangle all the thoughts in his head. He didn’t want to answer that question. It didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense. Nothing added up. Everything was disconnected and floaty and strange.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He didn’t realize he’d fallen off the couch and onto the floor until he blinked his eyes open and saw Dean kneeling next to him, looking worried and scared.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Cas?” he was saying. “Cas, what’s wrong? Cas, what the fuck? Cas, <em>Cas!</em>”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I’m okay,” Castiel puffed out. “I’m. . . I’m okay.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He took a shuddering breath, trying to calm his heartbeat. He felt lightheaded, probably because he was breathing way too fast and thinking too much and feeling <em>so dizzy all over again</em>-</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Hey. Hey, look at me. Cas.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel’s hand was gripped by another, his wrist loose and floppy. Dean laid Castiel’s hand against his chest, Castiel’s fingers twitching against the soft fabric of Dean’s flannel.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He felt a flash of confusion at first, but it was quickly dispersed by Dean’s next words.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Breathe, Cas. Look at me and breathe. Feel my heartbeat? Breathe with it. Come on, man. It’s gonna be okay.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel swallowed thickly and tried to concentrate, digging his fingers into Dean’s skin without meaning to. His friend grimaced but didn’t pull away, allowing Castiel to find his heartbeat.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    It was there, soft and barely tangible, but there. It forced Castiel to focus, to think of something other than the raging maelstrom of thoughts in his head.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He breathed out slowly.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Good,” Dean said quietly.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They sat like that for a long time, crouched on the ground, Castiel’s hand pressed to Dean’s chest. Castiel’s eyes drifted closed, his body exhausted by the effort of all it had been through. Dimly, in the back of his mind, Castiel registered that he’d had a panic attack. He hadn’t had one of those since his childhood. The last one had been during finals week his senior year of high school.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>Don’t think of high school or finals or your childhood. Just feel Dean’s heartbeat</em>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Shutting out all thoughts, Castiel just breathed.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Come on,” Dean said after a while. “You’re falling asleep.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    It was true. Castiel had to fight hard to make his eyes open. He blinked blearily at his friend. Dean smiled gently.    </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Come on. Up you go. Let’s get you to bed,” he said.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He helped Castiel stand, a process that was both long and painful. When he was finally upright, Castiel stumbled back to his room, leaning heavily on Dean the whole way.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    His bed was cold and strange when he climbed in, a stark contrast to Dean’s warm body. He tucked Castiel in, pulling the covers up like he had done so many times during the past week.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Dean?” Castiel croaked, right before he closed his eyes again.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Yeah, Cas?” Dean replied, voice soft and quiet.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “We need to. . . need to talk after,” Castiel mumbled, already slipping into the vestiges of sleep. “No more. . . no more hiding.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Yeah,” Dean agreed, though his friend couldn’t hear him. “No more hiding.”</p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Basically, Castiel panics because Dean reveals what he said while he was sick (You're beautiful). While he's panicking and struggling with his inner self, Dean asks a very important question: If I'm not a sinner, then why are you?</p><p>More on that in the next chapter.</p><p>I apologize if this is a little late. I'm struggling with really, really bad headaches right now and I've been having a pretty terrible week. Hearing from you guys always makes everything better, though, so thank you. I really love all of you.</p><p>I'll see you in three days. :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Chapter 17</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Oh my gosh, guys, I am SO sorry.</p><p>I do sort of have a good reason for not posting though. . . I was driving yesterday and some asshole ran a red light. They T-boned me and I was in the hospital all day. I have one broken wrist and one sprained wrist (the airbag) and a few cracked ribs, so breathing is REALLY FUCKING PAINFUL. Also, I'm not writing this, I'm verbally dictating it and my wonderful brother is typing.</p><p>Once again, so sorry I didn't post on time. I promise I'll try to do so in the future.</p><p>Enjoy this chapter!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div>
  <p>    <strong>Seventeen</strong></p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    Dean was fourteen again.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    He stood at a familiar table, a familiar map laid out in front of him.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    “You fixed it, Dean! It looks amazing,” a voice said.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    Dean knew who it was without having to turn around, but he did anyway. He would take every chance to see Castiel he could get.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    “Cas?”</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    Castiel was fourteen too, still short and gangly and more than a little on the awkward side. He was beaming at Dean, wearing that smile that only he possessed. Dean felt a flash of sadness for a moment, realizing that he hadn’t seen that kind of carefree smile in a long time.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    “You fixed the map, Dean.”</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    Dean looked back at their map, and found that he had. It had obviously been torn to pieces, and had been taped up with what was obviously meticulous care. Still, despite the careful repairs, the places where it had been torn were visible and the map looked trashy and messy. There was still a stain of his blood on the bottom left corner, covering the bottom half of the ‘C’ in Castiel’s name.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    “You’re beautiful, Dean,” Castiel said from beside him. Dean jumped, having not heard him walk up.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    “Cas-“</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    “Beautiful? You aren’t beautiful. You can’t even fix a fucking map right,” another voice snarled. Dean jumped and immediately cowered, his body’s primal response to a threat.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    “Dean?” Castiel’s voice asked, but when Dean whipped his head around, the room was empty.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    Well, empty save for him and John.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    His father stood before him, alive and breathing, that dark gleam in his eye telling Dean that he was sober and very, very angry.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    He cowered a little more.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    “You don’t deserve him, Dean. You know that. Soon, he will too,” John spat.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    “Y-You’re dead,” Dean breathed out. “You’re d-dead.”</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    “‘Y-Y-Y-You’re d-d-dead’,” John mocked. “I’m may be dead, Dean, but I’ll always be whispering in your ear-”</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean woke with a scream.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He laid there for a moment, panting and sweating. His shirt was soaked, he realized with a faint flash of annoyance. That meant that his sheets were too.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    That thought was what eventually made him roll out of bed. His hands were shaking badly and his legs felt weak, but he still managed to stumble into the bathroom in the hallway and flip on the light.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He squinted at the painful brightness, eyes needing time to adjust. After a few minutes, he was able to really take in his reflection.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He winced. He looked like. . . well. . . “Shit,” Dean sighed.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    His face was pale, his eyes bloodshot and exhausted. There were lines on his forehead and around his mouth that hadn’t been there before. He had deep purple shadows underneath his eyes and hollows in his cheekbones. And in his eyes. . . flickering in those green depths that had been with him all his life. . .</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean flipped off the light and looked away, unable to stare at himself for another second.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He headed left down the hallway, feeling his way through the darkness. He was going to the kitchen to maybe get himself a shot of whiskey to calm the shaking in his hands. Dean got to his destination and found someone already there, the golden light from the ceiling making the ends of his dark hair glow gold.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Cas?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel didn’t look up from the book he was reading at the kitchen table, a steaming mug sitting next to his right hand. “Don’t bother looking in the liquor cabinet. There’s no whiskey left.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean checked anyway, just to be sure. It was empty.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “What are you doing up?” he asked.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel looked up for the first time, blue eyes exhausted. He looked just as awful as Dean did. “What do you think I’m here for?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean sighed, lowering himself into the chair across from his friend slowly. “What did you dream about?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “You don’t want to know.” Castiel lowered his gaze to the pages of the novel he was reading.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I’ll tell if you do," Dean offered.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel looked up from his book again, blue eyes calculating. After a moment, he sighed. “The same thing I always dream about. The conversion camp.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean looked away, rage boiling up from his stomach. He hated Castiel’s parents, hated that they had sent him to that Goddamn camp and given him nightmares and fears and barriers that were still in effect even almost a decade later.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>God, has it really been almost a decade? Are we really that old?</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    Since when was twenty-five old?</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Well?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean blinked. “What?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel, who had asked the question, raised his eyebrows at Dean. “You promised to share if I did. I shared.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Oh.” Dean rubbed at his face, suddenly weary. “It’s stupid. The same old shit, you know?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    That was a lie. It wasn’t the same shit. It was new. Cas had been in his dreams before, but never at the same time as John. And what John had said. . . it echoed some of Dean's deepest fears.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Dean, you said you’d share,” Castiel said, sounding strangely offended.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean sighed. “Yeah, yeah, I know. It was the same stuff. Dad saying things.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “What was he saying?” Castiel asked.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “You were being vague too!” Dean accused.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel honest-to-God rolled his eyes. “Fine. You tell me what John was saying and I’ll tell you what happened. In detail.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean snorted. “He was just calling me worthless and shit. Nothing new.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Well, the counselors were just calling us sick and and shit, nothing new,” Castiel said, mocking Dean’s higher voice. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    It should have been annoying or offending. However, Dean did not have a high voice by any means. It was higher than Castiel's, but only because Castiel had the deepest, roughest voice Dean had ever heard. It made him crack up to hear his friend mock his own higher voice in his gravelly rasp.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel started laughing too after a moment. They kept laughing, spurred on by the hysteria of the situation and the sort of detached quality that the early morning had. For a few minutes, they sat in their kitchen together and laughed hysterically for almost no reason at all.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    After they’d calmed down somewhat, Dean wiped his eyes and glanced at the digital clock above their crappy stove.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “It’s three in the morning,” he said, surprised.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Yes,” Castiel replied, amused. “We didn’t sleep long.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean jumped up, feeling a random burst of energy. “Well, how about some music? I could use a hot. . . whatever that is you’re drinking.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Milk,” Castiel said. He was getting up too. “Just no loud music, alright? And no Metallica.”    </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “No Metallica? What are you on?” Dean asked, offended. Castiel frowned, tilting his head.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I am not ‘on’ anything, Dean.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean exhaled sharply. “I know that, Cas. I was asking you—you know what? Never mind,” he said, waving a hand at his friend in exasperation. “You choose the music. Just none of that whiny chick-flick shit, alright?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel smiled at him and nodded.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean turned to the stove and put a pan on, then grabbed some milk from the fridge and dumped it in, not really caring how much. A few seconds later, music began to drift softly through the kitchen.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Oh, come on, Cas!” Dean complained, turning to find his friend chuckling quietly.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Dean, you need to listen to something other than screaming men and electric guitars.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean sighed. “Okay, fine, but not Taylor Swift.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “What, then?” Castiel challenged, crossing his arms in front of the speaker that was hooked up to his phone. Dean rolled his eyes and moved forward, but Castiel blocked him. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean growled. “Cas, move. No Taylor Swift.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I find her music quite pleasing,” Castiel responded firmly.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean shook his head. “That’s not <em>music</em>, Cas. Not good music anyway.” When Castiel didn’t budge and only continued to glare at him, Dean gave in. "Oh, for fuck’s sake. Fine. But this can’t be the only thing we listen to.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel beamed at him. “Deal. I’ll put some Queen songs in too.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean relaxed a little, shaking his head. He turned back to the stove to hide his smile at the way Castiel was humming along to the song.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The song changed after a little while, going from bright, hip-hoppy tunes to a soft, slow beat.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “What’s this?” Dean asked.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I believe it’s called ‘Lover’,” Castiel replied, frowning at the stereo.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean chuckled. “Sounds a little like the song they played at Prom. The one we danced to.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel smiled. “Yes, I remember.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean remembered too. Remembered the warmth of Castiel’s body, the shy blush on his face, the way his beautiful blue eyes had sparkled in the lights of the dance floor.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Would you like to dance with me, Castiel?” he asked on a whim. Dean kept his voice joking, just in case. It was always better to return to humor if Castiel said no.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    But his friend surprised him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I would.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean turned from the stove, eyes wide.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel smiled at him. He looked a little shy, a little devilish, a little scared. But he held out his hand, and Dean stepped forward as if in a trance to take it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel’s fingers were slender and strong, just like Dean remembered. His hand was warm and dry and bigger than Dean’s, and for some reason, that was okay. Dean clasped Castiel’s other hand, smiling softly as his friend automatically directed them into the correct position.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “It’s been a while, Cas,” Dean said quietly. “I think I’ve forgotten how to dance. You’ll have to teach me again.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel chuckled. “Lucky for you, Dean, it’s just like riding. . . Just like riding a. . .” He trailed off, his blue eyes sparkling in the soft glow of the overhead kitchen light. Dean smiled encouragingly, squeezing his right hand. Castiel sucked in a soft breath. “. . . bicycle.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Will you show me anyway?” Dean whispered.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I could,” Castiel replied, slowly beginning to step in a small square. Dean followed him, realizing distantly that Castiel was right. Dancing <em>was</em> like riding a bicycle. Or maybe it was just dancing with Cas that his body remembered.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean accidentally stepped on his friend’s foot, wincing as Castiel grunted in pain. “Sorry, Cas.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel squeezed his hand to show him it was alright.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The song changed again, a man singing now. Something about someone looking perfect. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean was fairly sure he was singing about a girl, but he didn’t care. All the lyrics fit to Castiel too. Castiel was perfect. Everything about him was absolutely amazing.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Castiel,” Dean said quietly.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Yes, Dean?” Castiel asked. There was a flicker in his eyes, something that told Dean his friend had guessed what he was going to say already.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean swallowed thickly.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Castiel, what you said earlier-“</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I’m sorry,” Castiel interrupted, looking away. His movements became stiffer and less languid, less graceful. Dean inhaled shakily, pushing past the terror that threatened to choke him into silence.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I think you’re beautiful too.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel’s steps faltered. This time, it was him who stepped on Dean’s toes. The green-eyed man grunted in pain. Damn, that really did hurt.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He squeezed Castiel’s hand to reassure him, all the same.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “You don’t know what that means, Dean,” Castiel murmured sadly.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I think I do,” Dean replied softly. “And I. . . I think I love you too.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel actually stopped dancing, his hands loosening in Dean’s. Dean squeezed tighter, trying to force Castiel not to let go, trying to force him to stay.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Dean, we can’t-“</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Cas, <em>please</em>. Please don’t pull away. It’s. . . It’s okay to be scared,” Dean breathed out. He clamped down on Castiel’s hand as his friend made to pull away again, hands shaking despite the hard grip. “Please, Cas, don’t leave. I know. . . I think you want this too.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel’s eyes were shining with pain and so much want, it hurt something in Dean's chest. “I do, Dean,” he whispered, voice cracked and broken. “But we <em>can’t</em>. It isn’t right.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Who says?” Dean demanded.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He closed it, then looked away.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean felt a cavern opening in his chest, something cold and awful. It had been threatening for a long time, looming over him like an ominous thunderhead about to break. Dean had been sensing it with a sort of quiet dread, hoping it would never arrive. But now the storm was here, and it was horrible.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean slowly loosened his grip on Castiel’s hands. He was unable to speak. His throat was too tight, his eyes hot but dry. He felt sick, his chest aching and stomach lurching like he’d been dropped from the top of a building.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean was just about to turn when he felt a hand grip his chin.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean barely had time to gasp before Castiel had pressed his lips to his own, stealing his breath away.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean closed his eyes, pressing into Castiel, drinking him in like a dying man with water. Castiel answered with equal vigor, kissing Dean hungrily. Dean opened his mouth when Castiel licked at the seam of his lips, gasping a little when his friend’s tongue began to explore his mouth. Only when he was about to pass out from lack of air did Dean pull away. He sucked in desperate gasps of oxygen, watching as Castiel did the same.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean read the insecurity in Castiel’s eyes, the way the blue flickered with fear of rejection. Dean shifted forward so their bodies were brushing lightly and grasped his friend’s hand again, squeezing it in that reassuring way that seemed to make Castiel melt. The blue-eyed man smiled gratefully.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I. . . I can’t say it yet,” Castiel whispered. “I’m sorry, Dean.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “It’s okay,” Dean replied, laughing shakily. “It’s okay. As long. . . As long as I get you now.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel smiled gently, kissing him chastely on the lips. “You’ve always had me. And you always will.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They slowly started to dance again, the music playing through different songs. Though some of them were faster than others, Dean and Castiel’s dance remained slow.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They were still swaying to the slow beat of the music when dawn came and stained the kitchen golden with the light of the rising sun.</p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you for reading, and for understanding. Once again, sorry I couldn't post on time. :(</p><p>I promise I'll answer your comments as soon as I can. As of right now, I want to answer them personally and I obviously can't type, so I have to wait a little. Sorry! I can still read them, but I'd like to respond myself and that will take a while.</p><p>I hope you liked the chapter. The boys finally pulled their heads out of their asses! Yay! Also, tell me if you spot any mistakes. I went over it a few times, but my brother isn't used to the format and he might have accidentally shifted a few sentences around.</p><p>See you all soon!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Chapter 18</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Oh my Chuck.</p><p>That's all I can say.</p><p>People, I have coughed up blood. I have had screws driven into my bones. I have been poked and prodded and drugged, and all of that is nowhere NEAR as scary as it would have been without you.</p><p>I got so many comments, so many sweet messages, and I wish I could thank each and every one of you. I've finally replied to your comments (sorry about the wait), and you know EXACTLY who you are. You are all amazing, and I would like to tearfully thank you for all of your kind well-wishes and patience. You're incredible.</p><p>I can type one-handed now, which is why everything took so long. I got two screws in my left wrist, and breathing is easier. Everything is going GREAT! What's even better is that they don't have to drug me to get me to sleep, which was terrifying. I hate being forced to sleep, even if I sign a paper that says I consent. Ick.</p><p>Anyway, I have the next chapter! It's a little short, but it's there. I hope you enjoy it!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p></p><div>
  <p>    <strong>Eighteen</strong></p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel could tell that Dean was on edge when they woke up. They’d gone back to sleep and woken near noon, tangled together on the couch after a heated make-out session. Now, though, the air was tense.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel had learned over the years how to tell when Dean was feeling insecure. He wouldn’t whistle when he was making coffee, wouldn’t sing quietly under his breath while frying bacon or waiting for the bread to toast. He’d stand quietly in the kitchen, still and silent. Castiel sometimes thought that it was because he’d had to hide when John was around, and this was his way of hiding from Castiel: being still and quiet.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He was doing that now, just standing there and watching the bacon fry. Castiel could tell from the little hunch of his shoulders, the way he was trying to curl in on himself, that he was scared.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel took a deep breath and stepped forward, off the edge in his mind and into whatever this new thing was, this beautiful budding flower that was still so delicate and fragile. He walked up and wrapped his arms around Dean from behind, arms circling around his middle. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He could feel the tension drain from his friend, and he knew he’d made the right choice.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “What’s the matter?” Castiel asked quietly into Dean’s shoulder. Dean sighed, turning the bacon over in the pan.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I thought maybe you’d. . . I don’t know, change your mind. You seemed pretty on the fence,” he said. His deep voice was uncharacteristically quiet.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I’m still not comfortable with certain. . . things.” Castiel sighed, pulling away from Dean to look him in the eyes when he turned. “Dean, you have to understand. . . This won’t be easy for me. I. . . my whole <em>life</em>, I’ve been told that this is wrong. I can’t just forget that.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I understand, Cas,” Dean replied. “I just. . . don’t give up, okay?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>Don’t give up on me</em>, he didn’t have to add.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I won’t,” Castiel promised. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He made good on his promise by kissing Dean passionately, causing him to get distracted and the bacon to burn. After thoroughly cursing out the stove and the burnt strips of meat, Dean flicked off the heat and grabbed Castiel again, kissing him near-desperately.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I want you to move into my room,” Castiel breathed against Dean’s lips in-between kisses. “We don’t have to do anything, but I want you near me.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean beamed up at him, lips swollen from kissing, blond hair mussed and soft. “Sounds good to me.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel grinned and attacked him with kisses again.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean had the day off that Saturday, so he helped Castiel run the store. He was a far better barista than Castiel would ever be, and way more charming despite the hour of the morning they opened.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He managed to charm four hundred dollars of tips out of customers in a single morning, something Castiel found to be both incredible and unethical.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “If they want to give me a forty-dollar tip, then I’m not complaining,” Dean said after the morning rush was over.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Dean, you were practically in that man’s lap.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Again, if they want to give me forty dollars, I’m not going to complain.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “You realize that’s what strippers do?” Castiel asked, raising an eyebrow.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Are you jealous?” Dean challenged, raising an eyebrow right back. Castiel looked away at that. Dean hooted and slid over the counter of the store, something Castiel had told him <em>several times</em> not to do. In an instant, he was grabbing the lapels of Castiel’s jacket and grinning at him. “You <em>are</em>.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “You would be too, if I was practically on my knees for every customer who comes through the door,” Castiel grumbled.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Four hundred dollars, Cas,” Dean reminded him. A sparkle of mischief entered his green eyes. “Would you like to see me on my knees?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel growled and kissed him to shut him up. He didn’t really want to jerk off in the store bathroom, and he was <em>not</em> going to greet customers while sporting a raging hard-on.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean was just beginning to reciprocate gleefully when the door opened and the bell tinkled.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Oh. Am I interrupting something?” someone asked, sounding surprised.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel practically shoved Dean away, embarrassment sending blood flying to his face. Dean stumbled a little, but he managed to look calm and collected despite the way his hair was messed up and his shirt was rumpled. “So sorry, miss. How can we help you?” he asked, already smiling even as he turned to see who it was.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The redhead who had come in while they were kissing grinned. “No problem, dude. I don’t mind, though your boyfriend might.” She tipped her head in Castiel’s direction.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel felt like he was going to die. His face was so hot it was affecting his vision, and the way they were both staring at him was <em>not</em> helping.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Before he could do something stupid like vomit, Dean spoke up again. “Well, he’s new to the boyfriend thing. Now, from your shirt I can infer that you have good taste in music. Might you be here to buy some records?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Actually, no,” the redhead said, looking down at her ACDC shirt. “I’m here to buy a cookbook. My girlfriend just got a new job, and I’m cooking most nights. We can’t live off of boxed mac and cheese forever, so. . .”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I know the feeling,” Dean said, winking at her. Charming as ever.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel relaxed a little when he heard the woman say ‘girlfriend’. He cut in right after Dean finished explaining that mac and cheese could be used in many different ways.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Despite its multi-use abilities,” he said, “I understand that you need to have several different options for cooking. I can show you some of our cookbooks, if you’re interested.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Sure thing,” the redhead said. She winked at him. “My name’s Charlie, by the way.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Castiel,” Castiel replied. He nodded at his. . . at his boyfriend. “And that’s Dean.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean winked. “Nice to meet you.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Charlie laughed. “You too. Let’s go peruse some boring cookbooks. Then, after I accomplish the mission, you can show me your comic book collection.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Charlie ended up staying far longer than it took for her to buy a cookbook and their entire collection of vintage comic books. She and Dean ended up exchanging numbers, and she became one of the few people in the world who could make Castiel laugh so hard that he snorted.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    When she left, it was nearly time to close.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean stretched as he put away the rag he’d used to clean the coffee machine and counter. Castiel flicked off the ‘OPEN’ sign and locked the door, turning to where Dean was opening the register.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “How much?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Over two thousand,” Dean replied, beaming. “That collection of Harry Potter books sold out <em>fast</em>.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “You’re right,” Castiel replied, smiling at the near-empty fantasy section. “We’ll have to restock soon.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Later,” Dean replied, waving his hand. He got that mischievous look in his eye again, and Castiel groaned internally. Whenever Dean smiled like that, it meant trouble. “We have things to do.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Like what?” Castiel asked tentatively. He didn’t really want to know the answer.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I believe we were talking about kneeling earlier-“</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “For God’s sake, Dean, can you please refrain from speaking about that until we get home?” Castiel asked. He huffed, adjusting his coat.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean laughed gleefully, tipping his head back. The light from inside the store glinted off his perfect teeth, and his nose scrunched with mischief. Castiel couldn’t help but smile, shaking his head. Dean was beautiful when he laughed.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He came around the counter and pressed Dean against the cash register, kissing him again. Dean stopped laughing and groaned into the kiss, pushing Castiel away slightly. “Cas, you can’t do that.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I could.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I’ll never think about this cash register the same if we fuck right here.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel flushed bright red at Dean’s words, causing the green-eyed man to burst out laughing. Castiel kissed him again to shut him up, then helped him close up with the promise of more exciting things when they got home.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    As feisty as they had been in the store, their first time was exactly what Castiel had been hoping for. Gentle, slow, and loving. Castiel even burned candles, though Dean insisted that it was too much of a ‘chick-flick’ moment.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel saw the sparkle in his eyes, though. He knew that Dean secretly liked it. Liked to be held during and after sex, to hear how well he’d done and how beautiful he was. Castiel could have said it that night, could have said the ‘L’ word. He could have said it when he’d first seen Dean bared before him. When Dean had tried to cover up the scars he still had, face flushing red. He could have said it when he entered Dean for the first time, or when they were lying pressed against each other afterward.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    But he didn’t. His tongue froze, his jaw locking up.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    So Castiel didn’t try to force it. He just kissed Dean and enjoyed the moments he had with him, the closeness of his body and the beauty of his sounds.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    And as they were drifting off to sleep, Castiel pulled Dean closer and figured he’d just have to try again. And again, and again, and again if he had to. He would try every day if he had to, for this man.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    That was alright.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    There was always tomorrow.</p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Can I just say that I absolutely ADORE Charlie? Like, she was so precious. I loved every second she was onscreen, except when she died. I was sad for DAYS.</p><p>Some of you are hoping for some happiness to come, and I can promise you that! I can also remind you of the rollercoaster which I so often reference. . . What goes up needs to come down eventually. . .</p><p>:) See you soon! And once again, thank you for the kind messages! I love all of you!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Chapter 19</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello, hello! How are all of you?</p>
<p>This chapter is a bit of a filler, I'll be honest. It's fluffy, though, so I hope you like it! Also, a sidenote: The chapter is in Sam's POV for the first half.</p>
<p>Enjoy! :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p></p><div>
  <p>    <strong>Nineteen</strong></p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean and Castiel’s relationship remained a secret for about two hours before Sam figured it out.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    With minimal communication while he was at school, it had actually been months since Castiel and Dean had started ‘dating’. But the second the youngest Winchester came home for the summer, he could already tell something was off. Well, not off. Different.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    It started with the sappy looks the two were giving each other. Of course, they were always giving each other sappy looks that fooled no one but themselves, but these were. . . <em>sappier</em> than normal.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Not only that, but Sam was sure that he saw a blush here and there, which meant that the receiver of the look was <em>aware</em> they were being looked at sappily.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    It all made Sam’s head hurt a little, but he pushed on in observing. This was a very important thing.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Sam first noticed when he was picked up by his brother and his friend at the Stanford campus. By the time they had reached the apartment Dean and Castiel shared, Sam was almost sure that there was at least <em>something</em> going on. That was further confirmed by the fact that he was directed to the second bedroom to put his stuff in and there was no evidence of Dean planning on sleeping on the couch.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Still, Sam didn’t want to assume. He knew that the chance was there that he was just looking for (hoping for?) something, and that it could be potentially devastating if he forced it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    So Sam stayed quiet and decided to observe.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He sat down to a surprisingly nice lunch of sandwiches and even some chips. “This is great, Dean,” he commented. “Don’t tell me you went all out for me?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Sort of,” Dean admitted. He shrugged, looking a little uncomfortable. Dean always was, when it came to Sam and their financial situation. He’d tried his hardest his entire life to make sure that Sam didn’t have to worry about money, though it had been kind of inevitable given their situation.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I’ll admit, we don’t usually indulge in junk food,” Castiel cut in, putting a hand on Dean’s shoulder, “but we decided to in celebration of your completion of junior year. How was it?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Whether it was the redirection of the conversation or the hand on his shoulder, the tension drained out of Dean’s shoulders slowly as Sam told them the details of his third year at Stanford.Though he was talking, his mind was elsewhere. Mainly, on the dynamic that seemed to have formed between his brother and his friend.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    It was funny, actually. It seemed that Castiel hadn’t realized that his hand was still on Dean's shoulder, or that his thumb was stroking slowly side to side. Dean, for his part, seemed to be leaning into the touch subconsciously, his body tilted to the left and into Castiel’s ‘personal space’.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Sam fought the urge to smile.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I completely understand. I heard that Professor Lovelock was terrible, but I never had the displeasure of working with her,” Castiel was saying, nodding at Sam’s complaints about a certain professor.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “She doesn’t even teach me, but she’s eighty and thinks that she can boss all of us around,” Sam replied, shaking his head.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean just snorted and shook his head in agreement, looking to the side. Sam knew that Dean got uncomfortable when they talked about things like this. He’d never been to Stanford, had only earned a high school diploma and then gone straight to work. He thought he was ‘too dumb’ to take part in conversations about the university.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Sam watched Castiel squeeze his brother’s shoulder comfortingly, watched Dean relax more than he’d ever seen, faster than he’d ever thought possible.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I met a girl,” he said, a little distantly.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean perked up immediately, and Castiel threw up his hands. “Why didn’t you lead with that, Sam?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Yeah,” Dean agreed, laughing. “We could have been talking about that instead of some bitch professor! What’s she like? What’s her name? Where’s she from?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Jesus, give me a second,” Sam said, grinning. He felt a warm feeling stir in his chest as he thought of Jess. “Her name is Jessica Moore, and she’s amazing.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “What does she study?” Castiel asked.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean smacked him on the shoulder. “Who the fuck cares? Is she pretty? When do we get to meet her?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Sam laughed. “She studies law, like me. And she’s one of the most beautiful girls I’ve ever met. She’s on holiday with her parents in Hawaii right now, but maybe you can meet her later this summer.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “That’s wonderful, Sam,” Castiel said, smiling.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Dude, that’s fucking fantastic!” Dean agreed. “That’s my Sammy. I knew you were gonna be popular with the ladies.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Sam blushed a little. He had to remember why he’d brought Jess up at all. “How about you?” he asked innocently. “Any new relationships?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    It was like he had dropped a bomb. Immediately, the two shifted away from each other and tensed a little. Dean looked at the ceiling, Castiel glanced out the window.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Sam raised his eyebrows.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Nah, nothing new,” Dean said.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Sam could see the faint quirk of Castiel’s eyebrows, and he nearly chuckled. The darker-haired man had never liked lying, and he could tell that he disapproved of the lie Dean had just told.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    That confirmed it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Sam grinned. “Are you sure?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean cleared his throat. “Sure, Sammy. You want some more chips? I can get more.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “No, I’m f-“ Sam started to say.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “That’s a wonderful idea, Dean. I’m going to run to the bathroom, I’ll be right back,” Castiel interjected, smiling awkwardly.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    With that, he practically ran from the table.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Sam watched him go, amusement quirking his lips, then grabbed Dean’s wrist to stop him from escaping as well. “Dean, come on.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “What are you doing, Sam? Let me go,” Dean protested, pulling away from Sam.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Seriously, dude? You’re going to continue lying to me?” the youngest Winchester asked. He shook his head. “Come on, Dean. I already know what’s going on.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “What? What’s going on?” Dean asked. He was on the defensive, and Sam knew that Dean was afraid of being judged. Sam grinned up at him.</p>
  <p>    “Dean, how long have you and Cas been dating?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Whether it was the blunt question, or the disarmingly bright grin on the youngest Winchester’s face, something caused Dean’s shoulders to relax ever-so-slightly. He sighed and fell back into his chair at the dining table, rubbing his face with his hands. The gesture was a way to hide, Sam knew. He waited patiently as his brother worked up the courage to speak.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Since around Thanksgiving. He got sick and accidentally let slip that he liked me when he had a fever. I talked to him about it later and then we. . . well, we started dating, I guess,” Dean explained. He sighed deeply and pulled his face from his hands, looking a little weary. “Just don’t say anything to Cas, okay? He’s still weird about it.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Sam frowned, some of his happiness dimming. “Weird? Why would he be weird about it?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “He still thinks it’s wrong,” Dean muttered. Sam thought he could catch a flash of bitterness in Dean’s green eyes, and it made him sad. He had been hoping for this to happen, hoping for the two to pull their heads out of their asses and realize that they were in love with each other. But he knew it wouldn’t be easy. Sam was sure that Castiel wasn’t the only one who had issues getting intimate in a relationship, especially with another man. John Winchester had been almost as bad as Naomi and Chuck Novak, if not worse.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I’m sorry, Dean,” Sam said sincerely. He sighed, taking a sip of water. “He’ll come around. Cas will do anything for you.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I don’t-“</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I’m back!” Castiel said, coming sailing into the room. “What did I miss?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Nothing much,” Dean replied. He smiled at Castiel, and Sam could see some of the tension in his shoulders draining away. It made him happy to see it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They continued talking about other things, laughing and sharing jokes just like old times. Well, almost like old times. Sam felt indescribably lighter knowing that the looks Dean and Castiel were sharing weren’t just in his imagination.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    And when he heard them kissing behind the door after they thought he’d left and gone to his car to drive to the apartment he was sharing with two other guys, Sam could only smile and shake his head.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean laid next to Castiel hours after Sam had left, tracing his fingertip lightly across his boyfriend’s chest.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Sam knows,” he said quietly.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel chuckled, the muscles of his abdomen flexing. “I know. He isn’t exactly subtle.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Neither are we, apparently,” Dean said. He felt Castiel’s hand on his cheek, but he refrained from looking up at his boyfriend just yet. There was still something bothering him, and he didn’t really want to face it. Maybe if he ignored it, it would go away.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “That’s fine. Right, Dean?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Sure, Cas. As long as you’re okay with it.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “What’s the matter?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean sighed, stopping his tracing and laying his hand flat on Castiel’s chest. He went with the gentle tugging of Castiel’s hand and looked up at his boyfriend, shifting underneath the covers of their bed. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I just. . . I always thought Sammy was my younger brother, you know? And he still is. But he’s three inches taller than me and he’s going to graduate college next year. He’s got a girlfriend. Hell, Cas, we’ll be celebrating our twenty-sixth birthdays next year.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel nodded, listening patiently. When Dean didn’t make any move to continue talking, he stroked his hand gently along his shoulder. “What’s your point, Dean?” Castiel asked.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I just. . . he’s getting so big,” Dean said, voice tight. “We all are. We’re. . . Cas, we’re growing up. And I guess it just hit me today, when I saw my little brother. He’s so mature now, it’s fucking crazy.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel chuckled. “Sam is exceptionally mature for someone of twenty-two years of age,” he agreed. “But that doesn’t mean he isn’t still your younger brother.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I know he is,” Dean replied, shaking his head. “I just. . . it’s crazy.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel smiled softly in the dim light of their bedroom. The sun was still a sliver on the horizon, but it was late and soon the night would be dark.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I know, Dean. It feels like only yesterday when we were sitting on the Impala, watching the sunrise on my seventeenth birthday.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean released a breathy laugh. “Yeah. And only a little longer since we first met. Do you remember that?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel chuckled, shifting his grip on Dean. His arms tightened around his boyfriend’s bare torso, fingers skimming across warm, silky skin. “I do. It was second period Spanish.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Do you remember the first thing you ever said to me?” Dean asked quietly, voice soft with memories.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel watched him, smiling softly at the glow in his boyfriend’s green eyes. “What?” he asked. He already knew, but he wanted to hear Dean say it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “You said, ‘Stairs are overrated.’ But you said it in your voice, and I remember being so shocked to hear that from a fellow fourteen year-old,” Dean said, laughing at the memory. Castiel chuckled.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I remember thinking that I’d never seen eyes as green as yours. I thought that was only something in books.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean flushed a little, still smiling to himself at the memories. “Remember when you tackled Alastair because he was beating me up? Everyone said it was the most savage thing they’d ever seen. Like you were a wild animal.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel snorted, brushing his nose through the soft strands of Dean’s hair. “I only did that because he was going to kill you. I honestly thought you were going to die.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I was fine.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “You didn’t see how he was pounding your face into the turf.” Dean glanced up at his boyfriend’s face as he heard the possessive, protective tone enter Castiel’s voice. His boyfriend looked a little angry, a little regretful, a little fierce. It turned Dean on as much as it made his heart throb with affection for the man he was currently cuddling unashamedly with.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “It was my fault for starting the fight with Azazel, but I don’t regret it,” Dean said. The conversation they were having was eerily similar to the one they’d had in the hospital when Castiel had come to visit him after the fight.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Except, of course, for the cuddling.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Well, I appreciate you fighting for me,” Castiel said. “I was glad to do the same.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “That’s what we do,” Dean said simply. “We fight for each other.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel was quiet for a moment, but Dean could tell that the words had struck something. He waited patiently for Castiel to speak, knowing that his boyfriend would talk when he wanted. Sometimes, Castiel just needed time to collect his thoughts.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    After a moment, Castiel’s arms tightened around Dean’s torso, the pressure almost unbearable for a moment. “I will always fight for you, Dean Winchester.” Dean smiled softly, looking up to meet Castiel’s gaze. His boyfriend was watching him with a fierce sort of intensity in his blue eyes. His jaw was set in determination, and Dean knew in that moment that he was dead serious. “You are my everything.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean kissed Castiel gently on the lips, ignoring the twinge of sadness deep in his chest. “I love you too, Cas.”</p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>My boys. . . :) I love them so dearly. Too bad I'm a sadistic motherfucker at the best of times. :( </p>
<p>Anyway, I hope you liked the chapter. I can't believe we're almost done! Enjoy the fluff. :)</p>
<p>I'll see you all soon!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Chapter 20</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello, amazing people!</p>
<p>THE OTHER SEASON 15 EPISODES ARE AIRING TONIGHT! I seriously don't think I have ever been more scared or apprehensive in my entire LIFE. I'm going to cry.</p>
<p>Also, funny story I thought I should share, simply because it's funny and I think we'll be needing that humor: The guy that hit me with his car was really high, and he felt really bad afterward (he's also in a lot of trouble). His mom was super nice, though, and she brought me cookies, which I thought were pretty great. He was in jail, so he couldn't do it himself.</p>
<p>Anyway, yeah. Here's the next part of the story. Unfortunately, it is sad and full of homophobic trigger warnings. :( Don't read if it will make you sad. I can summarize it at the bottom, if you need.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p></p><div>
  <p>    <strong>Twenty</strong></p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The months passed. The Seraph grew in popularity, their customer base growing so much that Dean and Castiel hired a new employee to run the children’s section most days. His name was Garth, and he was a skinny man with an apparent talent for entertaining little kids. “It’s Mr. Fizzles,” he explained to them once, holding up a sock puppet. “They love Mr. Fizzles.”        </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel had merely nodded. He didn’t really understand the appeal of a sock with painted-on eyes and a mouth, but it obviously worked, so he didn’t complain. Dean, at least, thought it was funny, so Castiel figured it couldn’t be <em>too</em> bad.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean continued to work hard. Castiel mostly worked at the bookstore, and when school started again, he taught there too. Soon, they planned on saving enough to send Castiel back to school so that he could get a teaching degree and start teaching at the college instead of the local high school.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They were a few months from that, at least, but Castiel was willing to wait.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    In the meantime, he worked at the bookstore and made connections with customers coming in. They were now fairly famous among the Palo Alto community, especially when it became clear that they were gay and dating each other. Charlie Bradbury, the redhead who had come in that morning after Dean and Castiel had admitted their feelings, had quickly become one of Dean’s best friends. She had quite a few connections in the LGBT+ community, and once they learned about the Seraph, Castiel and Dean suddenly had a handful of regular customers. Sometimes, Castiel wondered if they came simply to stare at him and Dean.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He had a hard time with that last one, but he tried to push it away. Castiel knew it wasn’t fair to Dean for him to be so guarded, to struggle so much with simple things like holding hands and kissing. He couldn’t really do it in public, and even in the privacy of their own apartment, it was a struggle.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean was endlessly patient, though. Castiel could see flashes of hurt in his eyes sometimes, when Castiel couldn’t bring himself to reply that he loved him, but he never spoke about it. Never brought it up when they argued, never held it against him. He was understanding and patient and Castiel adored him for it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He just wished he could tell Dean how much he cared for him in the way his boyfriend needed.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel tried to show him, of course. It was in the way he let Dean sit on the counter of the bookstore, the way he brought home pie every now and then when he went to the grocery store. The loving touches and praises he whispered in and out of the bedroom, the way he massaged Dean’s back and shoulders when he came home from a particularly grueling day at work. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    It was also in the way he trusted Dean. The way he told him all of his dreams and secrets, his fears and hopes and muses. He told Dean that he hoped for the bookstore to grow big enough to let Dean retire too, told him that he secretly hoped that the store would get popular enough to be a chain. That someday they could move out of their four-room apartment and rent a bigger one, or better yet, a house.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel told Dean about the nightmares he had, when he woke screaming in the middle of the night. If he was being honest, they sort of took turns waking the other with their screams or shouts, though Dean was sometimes quieter.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Those nights were the worst. They were usually the ones where Dean would pull away from Castiel’s embrace and head to the kitchen. If there was alcohol, he’d drink enough to get tipsy and then pass out at the kitchen table. If there wasn’t alcohol, he ran numbers on their crappy laptop and filed away the electronic part of their bookstore sales. Castiel honestly couldn’t decide which was worse, because both ended in Dean being exhausted and aching all the next day.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Most nights, however, Castiel woke up with Dean. Whenever the other woke from a nightmare, they always ended up cuddling for an hour or so before falling back into exhausted sleep.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    This particular night, however, Castiel woke and found Dean still asleep beside him. It made sense. Last night had been a bad one for Dean, and the next day had been full of rude customers and big orders and general exhaustion.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel blinked away the horror of his dream, struggling to breathe past the panic that tightened his throat. His eyes were hot with unshed tears, burning in the darkness.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Suddenly, the heat of Dean’s body against him and the feel of him in his arms became too much. Castiel pulled away with a violent jerk, heaving himself to the other side of the bed and breathing out harshly between his teeth.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>Breathe, Castiel. Four in. Hold four. Four out. Hold four. Repeat.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>   Castiel forced his heartbeat to calm, forced himself to return from the brink of a panic attack. It was alright. He was in his bed in Palo Alto, curled up next to his. . . his boyfriend.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>Sin.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    Sickness.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel swallowed hard, squeezing his eyes shut. <em>No, no, that’s not true. Not sick, not a sin. It’s just love, just normal. Like boys and girls, but not. It’s okay. I’m okay. I’m not a sinner. I won’t go to Hell. Because if I’m a sinner, then Dean is too. And Dean is</em> not<em> a sinner. It’s okay. I’m okay. It’s okay.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>   It wasn’t okay.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel could hear the words ringing in his ears. The screaming, some from the counselors, some from the children who refused to believe that there was anything wrong with them.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    Sin.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    No.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    Sin.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    No!</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    Sin.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    NO!</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    NO!</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    NO!</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    NO!</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    NO!</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel breathed out a harsh exhale, clenching his hands into fists. He felt floaty, disjointed. He needed something to tether him to earth, or he was going to float away. His limbs were trembling badly. He couldn’t think, couldn’t <em>breathe</em>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    Oh GOD-</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p><em>    There is no God for you here</em>, the poisonous voices whispered. <em>No God for bastards and sinners like you children. You’re wrong in the head, but don’t worry, we’ll fix you. You’ll be holy again.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel clamped his hands over his ears, as if it could stop the whispers. But they didn’t cease, didn’t go away. Castiel nearly screamed, unable to stop the incessant tide of hatred and spite and <em>lies</em>-</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean turned over in his sleep, mumbling something about motor oil. It calmed Castiel slightly, to hear the voice of another human being. He wasn’t alone, on this island of darkness and fear. He had Dean.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>We fight for each other</em>, Dean had said. He had also said <em>I love you</em>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel calmed slowly, breathing out softly. <em>Dean loves me, and that’s all that matters. And I. . . I love him too. I love him</em>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>   Castiel opened his mouth, eyes fixed on the still form of his sleeping boyfriend, barely visible in the darkness of the early morning. Castiel focused on everything about Dean, the hard and soft lines of his body, the way his mouth opened when he slept, the peaceful look on his face.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I. . . I. . .”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel choked a little, gritting his teeth with frustration. Why was it so fucking <em>hard?</em> It couldn’t be that hard; normal people said <em>I love you</em> to their significant others all the time.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Y<em>ou aren’t normal</em>, the voices whispered. <em>There is nothing normal or natural about this.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel breathed in a shaky breath, clamping his hands over his ears again. As if <em>that</em> could force the whispers away. Still, it gave him a physical motion to complete, and Castiel focused on the pressure of his hands on his temples.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>Just say it. Dean can’t even hear you. Just say the words. They’re small, only three. </em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    They are not small.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    They are so, so big. And I can’t say them.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel swallowed thickly, opening his mouth again. “Dean, I. . . I l-l-“ He cut off, huffing in frustration, then tried to force it out like he was ripping off a bandaid. “I adore you. <em>Fuck</em>.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tears rose, hot and unexpected, and Castiel had to cram a fist into his mouth before he could sob and wake Dean up. As it was, it still sounded loud in the dark quiet of the night, so Castiel climbed out of bed as silently as he could and stumbled out of their bedroom.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He fell to his knees in the living room. The apartment was so small that he didn’t have to go very far to get to the corner. Castiel felt instantly better when he had his back pressed to the juncture of two walls, his fist still shoved between his teeth, his chest still heaving with barely-suppressed sobs.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Why was it so fucking <em>hard?</em> Why couldn’t he just say it like a normal person? It wasn’t even that weird. He could say <em>I love you</em> to his brothers, could even say it to Sam if he really wanted to. Why not Dean?</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>Because you love him with all of your heart</em>, a soft voice whispered in the back of Castiel’s head. <em>And you’re afraid of what will happen if you truly give that over to him</em>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    But that wasn’t <em>right</em>. He <em>loved</em> Dean, loved and trusted him more than he’d ever loved anything else in the world. He loved him so much his heart ached when he thought of him, loved him enough to stick by his side through all these years, all these challenges and obstacles and hurdles.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    And that was the other thing. If he was able to sleep in the same bed as Dean, able to have sex with him and flip the middle finger to his parents for him, why couldn’t he say three simple words?</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel sucked in shaky breaths, trying to calm his sobs. He needed to do something to stop himself from freaking out or he’d wake Dean, and that was <em>not</em> something he could face right now. He didn’t want to be comforted, wasn’t even sure if he deserved it. He felt broken and wrong.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Desperately, Castiel glanced around the dimly lit apartment. His eyes landed on the sleek black case leaning against the wall, and some of the tension drained from his shoulders.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel stood slowly, hands shaking slightly as he walked across the living room and opened the case as silently as he could.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The hinges still creaked a little, the case old and not well taken-care of. But the instrument inside had obviously been meticulously cared for, and Castiel thanked God for that as he lifted the violin out of the case.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He took the bow out and inspected the horse-hair strings for any damage since he’d last played. When he was satisfied that everything was in order, Castiel straightened and went to the balcony that they had.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    It was tiny, probably as large as all the counter space they had in the kitchen put together, but it provided enough space for Castiel to stand and play his violin, so that’s what he did.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He closed the door quietly behind him and got into position, his posture perfect like he’d been taught in his lessons. His parents had demanded that they all learn an instrument, though Castiel was fairly sure he was the only one who actually paid attention in lessons. He’d always loved violins, with their beautiful sound and graceful playing style.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel closed his eyes and put the bow to the violin strings, mind running through choices of songs he could play.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He settled on one, thinking of the sleeping man still inside the apartment.Tiny or not, the building had thick walls. Dean probably wouldn’t hear anything.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Taking a soft breath in, Castiel began to play.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Sweet, ringing notes began to float through the cool night air, pulled forth by Castiel’s expert fingers and the stroke of his bow on the violin. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Eyes closed, shoulders relaxed, Castiel played the notes to Elvis Presley’s “Can’t Help Falling in Love” from memory. It was one of the first songs he’d learned, thinking it had been beautiful at the time. Now, he played for a different reason.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>If I can’t tell Dean I love him, I can show him in different ways. It’s okay, he understands. </em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    We’ll be okay.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    It will all be okay.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    There’s always tomorrow to try again.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    With that thought in mind, Castiel Novak played his violin in the quiet early morning until the sun rose.</p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Summary: Basically, Castiel reflects on his relationship with Dean and has a nightmare about the conversion camp. He's still struggling to say 'I love you', and he feels really bad about it. :(</p>
<p>I'm still praying for Destiel in the final episodes, even though I KNOW the show is MEAN and will probably just kill Cas instead. Also, I realized just how fucking funny this author's note will be to anyone reading it in the future, since they'll already know what happened.</p>
<p>I hope you enjoyed the chapter! See you all in three days!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Chapter 21</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey-o, everyone! How are you all doing?</p>
<p>I hope the answer to that question was: good. If not, I'm sorry. :( I'm open to talk if you need. Keep your chin up, and keep being yourself. You're awesome. :)</p>
<p>Here's some fluff for you. Enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div>
  <p>    <strong>Twenty-One</strong></p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean woke up on a Saturday in late December and grinned.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He kissed Castiel on the shoulder as he left the bed, glad that his boyfriend was still asleep. It was early, after all, and Castiel had never been a morning person.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Quietly, Dean snuck out of their bedroom and into the kitchen. He grabbed the bag he’d hidden in the back of the fridge and pulled out the orange juice, bacon, and fruit he’d bought at the store the day before.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    As quietly as possible, Dean whipped up a bowl of pancake batter. Remembering how much Castiel loved sweets, he grabbed a cup of chocolate chips and added those in too. Then he started a burner and began to fry bacon.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel walked out of the bedroom at around nine o’clock, yawning sleepily. His hair was a mess and he was still dressed in sleep pants, but he looked gorgeous, in Dean’s opinion.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean grinned at him. “Heya, Cas. How’d you sleep?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Good. Is that pancakes?” Cas grumbled, stopping and frowning sleepily at the stove.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “And coffee,” Dean replied, sliding a mug over to his boyfriend. He returned to the bacon, smiling to himself. He knew it would take about fifteen minutes and a few sips of coffee for his boyfriend to wake up. True to form, Castiel drank about half the coffee cup before he started to really become functional.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “What is all this, Dean? Are those chocolate chips in the pancakes?” he asked curiously.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Yep,” Dean replied, turning from the stove long enough to kiss Castiel. “Happy one-year anniversary.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel’s eyes widened. “Seriously? That’s today?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Yes,” Dean replied, feeling only slightly hurt that Castiel had forgotten. It wasn’t like they’d ever set an official date anyway. It was just. . . Dean remembered the exact day. A year ago today, at four in the morning, he and Castiel had kissed for the first time.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Shit,” Castiel said. He moved past Dean, deeper into the kitchen, and rummaged around in the pantry. Dean felt a tap on his shoulder and turned, eyes widening at the beautiful apple pie Castiel was holding. “It’s a good thing I bought this pie, then.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean blinked at the pie, then looked up at Castiel. Was he joking? Or was that seriously a coincidence?</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The sparkle in Castiel’s blue eyes told him that it was more deliberate than he thought. Dean grinned. “You remembered?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Of course, Dean. I-“ Castiel cut off, swallowing. Dean waited patiently, keeping his face carefully neutral. After a moment, Castiel swallowed again. “I would never forget something like this.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean smiled at him to show that it was okay. Then he carefully took the pie from Castiel’s hands, set it down on the counter, and tackled his boyfriend.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Dean!” Castiel cried, laughing. “Dean, I haven’t even brushed my teeth yet.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Don’t need to do that to have fun,” Dean replied, kissing him fiercely.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Dean, the pancakes are going to burn,” Castiel pointed out between kisses, surprisingly coherent for how hard he was being kissed at the moment.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Shit,” Dean cursed, pulling away. He pulled off the finishing, nearly-burnt pancakes, and set them on a plate. He could see that Castiel was hungry, so he didn’t try to insinuate any more making out. “Eat, Cas. Happy anniversary.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel kissed him once, a gentle peck on the lips, then dug into his breakfast.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I was thinking of leaving the store to Garth for the day. It’s always slow on Saturdays,” Castiel said. Dean nodded, humming his agreement through a mouthful of pancake.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He swallowed and said, “That sounds good. What were you thinking of doing all day?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “We could go to the beach,” Castiel said. “It’s only a thirty minute drive from here.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “That’s if we drive at your pace,” Dean grumbled.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “What are you suggesting, Dean Winchester?” Castiel challenged.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I’m suggesting that you, Castiel Novak, drive like an old lady,” Dean shot back. Castiel laughed and flicked a blueberry at Dean. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean didn’t bother to shoot one back, just dodged it instinctually. His whole body felt numb all of a sudden. He mechanically took a bite of bacon, chewing without really tasting it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>Castiel Novak. Dean Winchester.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    Novak.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    I. . . want that gone.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    Castiel Winchester. It has a nice ring to it.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>   Dean swallowed without chewing properly, wincing as the bacon scraped at his throat. He glanced up at Castiel to make sure the other man hadn’t noticed anything.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel was eating peacefully, lit golden by the morning sunlight. With the way it backlit his hair made him look like he was wearing a halo. He still didn’t have a shirt on, and the play of light on his muscles made something twist in Dean’s chest.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>Holy shit</em>, he thought. <em>When the fuck did this all happen? When did I realize that I want to spend the rest of my life with him?</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    Castiel Winchester.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>   Dean opened his mouth to say something, then thought better of it. It would only freak Castiel out.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Besides, there were things he had to do first. He’d address the problem of Castiel’s last name later.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean finished breakfast without saying a word on the matter.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The beach, needless to say, was nearly deserted. It was cold in December, even in California. There were minimal amounts of people on the beach, and if Dean and Castiel walked long enough down the surf, feet washed over with cold water rhythmically, they could get somewhere where there was no one at all.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They held hands, because Castiel was okay with that as long as there was no one else around. It sort of hurt something in Dean’s chest to know that his boyfriend didn’t want to be seen with him, but he understood. Castiel was still working through his issues.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I forgot my Polaroid in the car,” Dean remarked, glancing at his boyfriend. Castiel was so beautiful in the sunlight. Well, he was beautiful everywhere, but the sunlight especially.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “That’s fine. Not every moment has to be captured in physical form,” Castiel replied, voice soft under the crashing of the waves. “Some can just be held in the heart.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean smiled at him. His philosophical angel.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>God, I’m so in love with him.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I can think of a way to make it even more memorable,” he said, winking.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel blinked at him, horrified. “Dean, I wouldn’t even kiss you here,” he said.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean’s shoulders sagged, his smile dropping off his face faster than the gulls dove for fish in the waves. “I know, Cas,” he said quietly. “I was just joking.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “No, Dean, that’s not what I meant-“ Castiel tried, squeezing Dean’s hand desperately.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “It’s fine, Cas. I understand,” Dean replied, looking away.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Dean, I’m not embarrassed to be seen with you. I just. . . I think we should keep things like that private, you know?” Castiel asked, sounding worried and strung-out. Dean took pity on him, not wanting to start an argument on their anniversary. He squeezed Castiel’s hand and forced a smile.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Of course,” he said.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>Keep things like that private. Is that why he doesn’t even want to hold my hand in front of other people?</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>   Dean shook the bad thoughts away, not wanting to let them ruin his mood. He had the whole day with Cas, after all.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He listened to Castiel’s facts about the ocean and the gulls that flew overhead. Dean looked for the ‘perfect’ shell with him, laughing at Castiel’s frown when he found an abnormality in the shell and eventually hurled it into the surf. He squeezed Castiel’s hand tight when he could, forced down his sadness and insecurity when they were forced to let go when someone came by.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They walked and talked for hours, bickering and laughing like best friends. And, really, they were. They were best friends, and lovers. <em>The best combo</em>, Dean told himself. <em>Those are the types of marriages that last forever.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Then he reprimanded himself for even thinking like that. Marriage? Castiel barely wanted to hold his hand in public.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    But even that way of thinking wasn’t exactly fair. Dean could tell his boyfriend was fighting. He loved Dean, and Dean knew that. Castiel just struggled to say it out loud. He would hold Dean’s hand a little longer before releasing it in front of someone, smile at him like Dean had hung the moon and the stars. He was more open with loving phrases, even if they weren’t the ‘Big Three’.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    All in all, it was enough for Dean. It was.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He was glad that it was chilly today, glad that there were virtually no people on the beach. It meant that Castiel was relaxed and loose, not worrying about what they might see or think. He held Dean’s hand freely, talked and laughed without a care in the world. Seeing Castiel so light and happy made Dean feel like everything was right in the world. If his angel was happy and healthy, there was nothing to worry about.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean sort of wished he could just stay in this afternoon until the end of time, wished he could capture it and hold it in his heart forever. The image of Castiel in the sun, laughing and happy, was one he would hold dear to his heart for the rest of his life. In the sunlight, Castiel’s dark hair turned golden at the ends, his blue eyes sparkled, and his perfect teeth flashed.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>God, the ocean and the sky have nothing on Castiel’s eyes.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>    His hand was warm in Dean’s, a stark contrast to the cool breeze coming off the ocean. The palm was calloused, larger than Dean’s despite the fact that Castiel was shorter than him. His fingers were intertwined with Dean’s, and the green-eyed man wished that they could stay like that forever. Castiel’s hand fit perfectly against his, just like his body and his personality. All of Castiel’s edges and curves fit with Dean, creating one whole picture that was all the more beautiful.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>I am so in love with him.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean smiled at the thought, half-listening to the story Castiel was telling him about the time Gabriel and Lucifer got caught mowing lawns for money and then spending it on ice cream.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “The really funny thing,” Castiel was saying, “was that it was <em>exactly</em> what my parents wanted them to do. They would brush off the demand to do something useful, lie, sneak out, and go do exactly what they had just been told to do. Minus the ice cream, of course.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean chuckled. “Sounds like something they’d do. How’s their tattoo parlor?” he asked.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “It’s doing great, actually,” Castiel said, smiling. “My parents have finally accepted it, because they figured out that they could tell their friends that their sons are ‘business owners and CEOs’. As long as no one asks of <em>what</em>, they’ll be fine.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean smiled less at that. He figured it was the same thing with them. He didn’t want to ask, though, didn’t want to focus on Chuck and Naomi Novak for too long.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Instead, he changed the subject. “Sam is graduating in June,” he said. “It’s his senior year.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I know,” Castiel replied, sounding a little grateful for the subject-change. “What do you want to do to celebrate?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean smiled thoughtfully, looking up at the sky to think. “I don’t know. I know this isn’t his last year of college.” He didn’t mention that he sort of felt ashamed for not really knowing what came after. If you had a GED, you didn’t have to worry about things like grad school and undergraduate degrees.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel squeezed his hand, as if he knew what Dean was thinking. “It’s his last year of pre-law. It’s a big accomplishment,” he said. “I was thinking we could take him and maybe Jess to dinner.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Yeah,” Dean agreed, smiling. They’d met Jess at the end of summer break, and he’d adored her. Sam had been ecstatic, and both Dean and Castiel had agreed that she was a great person.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They’d turned around at some point, the sun a little low over the horizon. Dean quickly calculated how long it would take them to get to the car in time to drive back to the city and change for dinner. They’d be fine.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I’m so proud of him,” he said randomly, the words emerging before he could really think to stop them, not that he would have wanted to.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I know,” Castiel replied, smiling at Dean. “You did a great job.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Me?” Dean asked, confused.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Yes. You raised him, after all. He grew into an amazing young man,” Castiel said.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean looked away, flushing dark red. He didn’t really want to refute Castiel’s words, even though he didn’t believe them. Saying anything negative would make his boyfriend frown.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel simply squeezed Dean’s hand, as if he understood. Dean loved him for that.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Randomly, his mind went to Lucifer and Gabriel again. He was definitely not going to talk to Chuck when the time came, but maybe the older brothers. . .</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean’s hearing faded away, his focus drifting in on this one train of thought. He could definitely ask Lucifer and Gabriel. He’d met Gabriel before, and Lucifer more than a few times. They’d seemed relatively cool, and they’d seemed like they didn’t mind Dean. He hadn’t spoken to them in a while, but he knew that they’d probably still be as friendly as before.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Yes, that could work.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Excited, suddenly, Dean began to plan in his head, missing Castiel’s whole story about having a twenty-minute conversation with a customer about the difference between historical fiction and nonfiction.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He didn’t really notice what Castiel was saying until his boyfriend squeezed his hand. “Dean, are you alright?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “What? Yes, I’m fine,” Dean replied, blinking at him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “You spaced out,” Castiel said, frowning in concern.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Oh, sorry,” Dean said, scrambling in his head. “Uh, I was just thinking.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He prayed that Castiel wouldn’t ask about what. The dark-haired man eyed him for a moment, then opened his mouth to ask the inevitable question.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Before he could, Dean tugged his hand. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Come on, I’ll race you to the car,” he said. It was only a few hundred feet down the beach.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel groaned. “Dean-“</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    It was too late. Dean was already running to the car. He was no match for Castiel, but he tried anyway. They collapsed in the car, sweaty and gasping, laughing at the frantic scramble across the sand.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel sufficiently distracted, Dean started the car and drove back to the city, content to keep his plan secret.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    For now.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The next morning, Dean untangled himself from Castiel’s sleeping form and pulled on some clothes, grabbing his phone as he went.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He dialed the number, praying that it wasn’t too early.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Thankfully, the phone picked up after a few rings.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Lucifer Novak, please state your name and why the fuck you’re calling at seven in the morning,” a sleepy voice said.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Hey, Lucifer. It’s Dean,” Dean replied, smiling at the greeting.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Oh, Dean. Hi. You still didn’t tell me why the fuck you’re calling at seven o’clock on a Sunday,” Lucifer said.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I was hoping you’d be awake,” Dean said, wincing. “Sorry. I can call later.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “No, it’s fine. I’m awake now. Just not used to waking up so early. I haven’t gone to church in years,” Lucifer chuckled, and Dean laughed with him, making sure to keep a quiet volume so he wouldn’t disturb Castiel. After a moment, Lucifer spoke again, tone serious now. “Is Castiel okay?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Yeah, he’s fine,” Dean assured. He sighed, bracing himself for what he was about to say. “I actually wanted to talk to you about him.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Okay. Do you need a dirty story for blackmail?” Lucifer asked.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Ha, no. Not this time, at least,” Dean said. He swallowed thickly. “Listen, Lucifer. I’m going to ask Gabriel this question later, but I wanted to ask you first because you’re older and. . . well, I wasn’t going to call your father.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    There was a pause.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean stood in the kitchen of their apartment, sweating nervously. It was cold when they hadn’t turned on the heating yet, but he still felt like he had a fever.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Okay. What’s the question?” Lucifer asked, sounding like he already knew.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean braced himself, swallowing past his suddenly-dry throat. “I. . . Lucifer, can I have your blessing to ask Castiel to m-marry me? I-I. . . I love him,” he said, the last part almost a whisper. God, was it true.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    There was a silence. Then Lucifer exhaled heavily over the other end of the phone, breath crackling in Dean’s ear. “I’m honored you’re asking me, Winchester. You really love him that much, huh?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Yeah,” Dean replied, resisting the urge to add a ‘sir’ at the end. Lucifer was only a few years older than him, but right now, he felt like a seven year-old boy. He swallowed thickly. “I love him more than I think I’ve ever loved anything in my life.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I know,” Lucifer replied, voice quiet now. He laughed softly. “You and Cassie were always attached at the hip, and at first I thought it was just a really good friendship. But then he demanded that I drive him to your street that first night, and I knew it was something more. It always has been.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean exhaled shakily, feeling weak. “So that’s. . . not a no?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Not a no,” Lucifer agreed. He sighed, and when he spoke again, he sounded almost sad. “Dean, if you can get him to love himself for who he is, if you can manage to make him admit to the fact that he is gay and that it’s okay, then you’re worth it in my book. As far as I’m concerned, you have my blessing.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean breathed out in relief, knees feeling weak. He gripped the edge of the counter, feeling shaky. “Th-Thank you, Lucifer. God, you don’t know how much that means to me,” he said.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Think I do, Dean-o. Go ask Gabriel,” Lucifer said. He chuckled. “I don’t imagine you’ll get a different answer, but if there’s one thing he hates, it’s being left out of things.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I will,” Dean replied, feeling giddy. He was grinning like a fucking idiot, standing by himself in the middle of his kitchen at seven in the morning. “God, I will. Thank you, Lucifer. Thank you.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “You’re welcome, Dean. Go ask Gabe. And I expect an invitation to your wedding,” Lucifer said.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “O-Of course,” Dean replied, his knees weak all over again at the thought of a wedding. Holy shit, this might actually happen. “Okay, I’ll call Gabriel.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Alright. Talk to you soon, Dean-o,” Lucifer said, and Dean could hear his smile.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Thanks again, Lucifer.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “You’re welcome. Bye.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Goodbye.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The phone clicked off.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean stood there for a moment, staring at the ancient microwave and freaking out in his head. Holy shit, Lucifer had said yes.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean had his blessing to ask Castiel to marry him. Now all he needed to do was call Gabe and get a few more hours at work, just to pay for the ring. If he worked hard enough for long enough, he could get it before Sam graduated.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Maybe.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>Doesn’t matter what it takes, I’ll make it happen</em>, Dean thought.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>I swear it.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean dialed Gabriel’s number.</p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>MY BABIES-</p>
<p>Also, did anyone see 15x14? I'm not going to spoil anything, but I nearly DIED with how cute it was. I'm also really scared that they're trying to placate us with fluff before something awful happens. :(</p>
<p>Not like I'd know anything about that.</p>
<p>ANYWAY, I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Let me know what you think! I'll see you all in three days. ;)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Chapter 22</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello, wonderful people! I hope you're doing well!</p>
<p>Here's some fluff for you. I wanted to wrap up some loose ends before... next chapter. I've also decided to post the final three chapters together, so the end of the road is on Tuesday!</p>
<p>Also, I am SO mad at the writers for last night. I cannot, right now. Don't speak of "Gimme Shelter" in my presence until Destiel is canon. &gt;:(</p>
<p>All that aside, I hope you like the chapter!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div>
  <p>    <strong>Twenty-Two</strong></p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel opened a new store in a different city that spring.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    It was small, tucked into a little square filled with other shops, but it was the start of a chain, and it meant that he and Dean could live comfortably for a while.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    To say Castiel was proud was an understatement.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    That summer, weeks before Sam graduated, he opened another store all the way in Lawrence, Kansas. He gleefully ignored the calls from his parents he got in the next few weeks, laughing with Dean at the idea of their faces when they realized that the new store was owned by none other than their son and his boyfriend.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel had called a few months back and learned that he’d been cut from the inheritance, and after a panic attack and a mental breakdown, Castiel had realized that he was actually fine with that. Raphael and Balthazar had more or less disappeared from the radar, and Lucifer and Gabriel had been cut from the will years ago. The only ones left were Anna and Michael.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    That was fine. Castiel didn’t want their money. Dean agreed.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    It didn’t get any easier to tell his boyfriend that he loved him, but Castiel was still trying. He was able to say he loved certain parts of Dean now.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>I love your eyes, Dean.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    I love your hair.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    I love your voice, Dean. </em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    I love being near you. </em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    I love your smile. </em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    I love your laugh.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>   It was never the real deal, but that was okay. Castiel kept telling himself that there was always tomorrow, that one day he’d wake with the sun and be able to tell Dean that he loved him, plain and simple.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean was always supportive, always said that he didn’t mind. <em>If you can’t say it, that’s fine. I’ll wait until you can</em>. His one condition was always that he wouldn’t mind, as long as Castiel promised that he’d never say it without meaning it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel was fine with that.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He did sort of wish that Dean was around more. With the expansion of Seraph’s Used Books, he should have been working <em>less</em>, but he seemed to be working <em>more</em>. Castiel knew what it was like to have Dean leaving before he woke and returning after he fell asleep, but he hadn’t experienced that in <em>years</em>. Not since they’d really been struggling, at least.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He brought it up one night, when they were eating dinner around their small dining table, facing each other.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I just have to work more,” Dean said, shrugging it off irritatingly fast. “I want us to be completely sure that we can eat three times a day, make rent, live, you know? I don’t ever want to be back where we were.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I understand that, but the Seraph-“ Castiel started.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Cas, I promise that after Sam graduates, I’ll quit a job and spend more time with you. Can you wait?” Dean asked, sounding serious.    </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel sighed. He knew that he meant more to Dean than anything, except maybe Sam. He didn’t want to push that. “Yes, Dean. That’s fine. But after Sam’s graduation, alright? No longer?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Sure, angel,” Dean replied, winking at Castiel. He took a bite of spaghetti, looking like he was finished with the subject.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    After that, Dean seemed to work <em>more</em>. It was ridiculous, like he was trying to make a large amount of money in a small amount of time. Castiel laid in their empty bed most nights and looked forward to Sam’s graduation.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    On June 14th, the youngest Winchester graduated Stanford. Dean and Castiel were there the entire time, cheering louder than everyone else. Dean even teared up, which was something he denied again and again.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Jess graduated too, and announced over dinner that she would be attending Stanford again to get her master’s degree with Sam, and then again for their doctoral. After that, they would see. Dean and Castiel were ecstatic, though Castiel could tell that Dean was uncomfortable talking about college degrees. He admired the fact that Dean did so, for Sam’s sake.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Of course he did.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    After dinner, Sam and Jess went home. They’d purchased an apartment together halfway through senior year, and they lived on the other side of Palo Alto from Castiel and Dean.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The night of the graduation, Dean and Castiel relaxed in their apartment after their dinner with Sam and Jess.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “They seemed really happy,” Castiel said.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean laughed. “They should be. It’s crazy that they have to go to school again next year,” he said.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “They’ll be fine,” Castiel replied, waving his hand. He grabbed Dean’s rubbing his thumb across the knuckle. “Once again, I must congratulate you on the raising of a bright young man.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean looked away, blushing bashfully. “I didn’t really do much,” he said.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel wouldn’t have any of it. “You did. You were practically Sam’s parent. He’s a wonderful man.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “He is,” Dean agreed. It was easier to talk about Sam than himself. Castiel sighed at Dean’s lack of self-worth.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “You are too,” he said quietly.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean looked away. “Cas, I don’t even have a college degree. You. . . you and your store bring in more money in a week than I make in a month.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel gritted his teeth. “It’s <em>our</em> store, and you know that you’re worth much more than whatever degree of education you have.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean sighed. “Fine. Agree to disagree.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel frowned. “No. I won’t let this go. You’re an amazing man, Dean Winchester.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “You are too,” Dean said, looking at him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “This isn’t about me, is it?” Castiel asked, raising an eyebrow. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean sighed, trapped. He glanced at Castiel, saw that his boyfriend was dead serious, and looked away. “Fine.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Say it,” Castiel said, a smidge of smugness entering his tone.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean rolled his eyes. “Cas-“</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Say it, Dean. Or I won’t have sex with you for a whole week.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Cas, that’s ridiculous-“</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “A month,” Castiel said, dead serious.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean, frightened of the prospect of not getting laid, blurted, “I’m a good man, or whatever.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Amazing,” Castiel corrected.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean rolled his eyes. “I’m an amazing man.” The amount of sarcasm in his tone nearly made Castiel make him repeat it, but he decided against it. It was already a lot to ask of Dean to speak fondly of himself. Maybe in time, he would come to believe it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Content, Castiel slipped his hand through Dean’s, kissing his knuckles. “Good. Let’s go to bed.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “And have sex?” Dean asked, perking up.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel rolled his eyes. “Why is that always the end game for you?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I have goals, Cas,” Dean reminded him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Fine. But first. . . Have you quit those extra jobs?” Castiel asked.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean nodded. “Yep. All finished. I’m back to working at the shop and the diner.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “No more ungodly hours?” Castiel checked.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Nope,” Dean replied, smiling. “I’m done.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Are you going to tell me why you did all that?” Castiel asked, already knowing the answer.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Nope,” Dean repeated. “But I will tell you if you let me treat you to dinner tomorrow.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Tomorrow? Dean, today is a Wednesday,” Castiel replied, exasperated. What was Dean up to now? From the excited glint in his boyfriend’s eyes, he knew that it was something big.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “So?” Dean asked, frowning.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel rolled his eyes. “It’s the middle of the week. Can’t it wait until Friday night?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Nope,” Dean said, shaking his head. “I have to take you to dinner tomorrow.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “We went out to dinner a few hours ago,” Castiel protested.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Cas, please?” Dean asked. For all he claimed that he didn’t have ‘puppy dog eyes’ like his brother, those were certainly a good attempt. Castiel sighed, caving in. He couldn’t deny Dean something, especially if it was as harmless as dinner.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Fine. But you’ll explain why you’ve been taking more jobs tomorrow?” he asked.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Yes,” Dean replied, beaming. “I’m glad you agreed, because I already called the diner and said I couldn’t make it tomorrow. I’ll pick you up from the shop at five and we’ll leave at six, alright?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel nodded, unable to keep from smiling in the face of Dean’s infectious grin. “Sure, Dean. Can we go to bed now?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean nodded, practically buzzing with energy. Castiel wondered at what it was, what made his boyfriend so excited. He brushed it off, deciding to simply be glad for the fact that Dean <em>was</em> happy. He would figure out the answer to his question tomorrow, anyway.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Grabbing Dean’s hand, he stood, and they went to bed. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    After making love, Castiel went right to sleep. Dean, however, stayed awake for a few more minutes, curled up in Castiel’s embrace.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He smiled to himself in the darkness of their room, excited.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean drifted off to sleep thinking of the little box currently tucked away in his nightstand.</p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Yay, Sammy!</p>
<p>Tell me what you think! I always love to hear from you. Once again, I hope you're all staying happy and healthy. :)</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
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<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
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<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Also: Prepare yourselves.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. Chapter 23</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The end is here.</p><p>I started this fic WAY back in April. I actually had the idea for it even before that. This is the longest I've ever worked on a story, and the most I've ever emotionally invested in one. I wanted to write something that wasn't just for fun. I wanted to write something that meant things. Something that made people think. Something that they could learn from.</p><p>So yes, this story is meant to be for fun. But it's also for another reason, something I hope you'll see by the end of these three chapters:</p><p>To teach a lesson.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p></p><div>
  <p>    <strong>Twenty-Three</strong></p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    To say Dean was nervous would have been a laughable understatement.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He knew he looked like a dumbass in his slacks and dinner jacket, sitting alone in a booth for two. The waitress had come by twice now, giving him a sympathetic look every time he waved her off.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel was thirty minutes late.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Garth had apparently come in late, and Castiel was only now leaving the book store. Dean would have liked to still be able to pick him up, but he’d needed to get to the restaurant on time so they wouldn’t nullify his reservation. He’d arrived early, and Castiel still hadn’t shown.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Internally, Dean knew it was stupid to be worried. Castiel was his <em>boyfriend</em>, he wasn’t going to stand him up. Besides, he thought this was just a dinner. He knew nothing of the little box burning a hole in Dean’s pocket.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    That knowledge didn’t stop Dean from checking his phone every five minutes, though. He wondered, distantly, if Castiel had maybe gotten in an accident. God, he hoped not.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He’d planned out their night to the letter, terror and nerves making him just as detailed and fussy as Castiel usually was when it came to date night. Dean was now thirty minutes off schedule, and he wondered if he was even going to make it through this dinner without vomiting.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He checked his phone again, then looked up at the doors. To his surprise, a familiar face was emerging through the doors, smiling charmingly at the receptionist.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean’s panic melted away. He felt a small smile curve his mouth at the sight of his boyfriend. Shit, Castiel looked good in a suit.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    When the man turned and smiled at him, Dean felt like a weak-kneed teenager again. He smiled back.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The waitress sat them down and took their order. They’d been to this restaurant before. It was one of their favorites when they felt like a date night, and they always ordered the same thing.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “So,” Castiel said as the waitress left. “Are you going to tell me why you look like someone is holding a knife to your throat?” </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean cleared his throat nervously. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel narrowed his beautiful blue eyes. “Dean, you’ve been acting very strange. You told me you’d explain at dinner, and here we are. Tell me.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean nearly confessed everything right there. He opened his mouth to speak, to say that ohmygodcasiwanttomarryyoubutimscaredandidontknowwhatimdoing, but he didn’t. He needed to be brave, if only for Castiel. His boyfriend deserved to have the best experience. Dean’s insecurities could take a hike for the time being.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    So he merely gave Cas a shaky smile and said, “I’ll tell you when the timing is right.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel was now thoroughly confused.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He’d tried to crack Dean throughout dinner, but his boyfriend had remained stubbornly quiet on the subject of <em>why</em> they were actually there. Eventually, Castiel had just given up and let it be, trusting Dean to tell him when ‘the timing was right’. For that moment, he was happy to just enjoy a private moment with him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    But now they were standing on the beach, a few hundred yards from where the water met the land, and Dean looked like he was going to vomit.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Dean, are you alright?” Castiel asked, a little worried. He could see Dean’s hands shaking, the fingers twitching toward his right pocket.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I’m fine, Cas,” Dean replied. He gave him a weak smile. “I. . . Give me a second.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel did, turning to look at the surf to give Dean privacy. The sun was setting, the sky stained a gorgeous gold and pink. There weren’t any clouds on the horizon, so they would get the full effects of the sunrise for another hour yet. The wind was just cooling, the sand beneath their toes still warm.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean exhaled, and Castiel turned back to look at him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He felt everything come to a standstill as Dean knelt on one knee in front of him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Castiel Novak, y-you’re the love of my life,” Dean said, giving Castiel a shaky, nervous, beautiful smile. “I. . . Would you-Would you do me the honor of m-marrying me?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He held up a little velvet box, and inside, a simple silver ring glittered. There was a band of something else in the center, another precious metal, surely. It was a beautiful ring. Simple, but sturdy. It didn’t demand too much attention, while still being noticeable.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel stared at it, then slowly flicked his eyes up at the man holding it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    There was so much <em>hope</em> in his gorgeous green eyes. So much light and love. In those eyes, Castiel could see daydreams of a bright future. A future where they <em>did</em> get married, where they had a real house and the Seraph became a functioning chain, and where they adopted kids from childhoods just as traumatic as theirs’.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel wanted that.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    God, he did.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    But. . .</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Dean, I. . . I don’t know what to say,” he said, and he could <em>see</em> the heartbreak on his boyfriend’s face. He could see the pain. The fear and anxiety and panic that had been there before came rushing in again, intense.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “What do you mean?” Dean asked, voice so quiet Castiel could barely hear him over the waves.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel took a step back, shaking his head slightly. He needed room. He needed to <em>breathe</em>. “I don’t-Dean, I can’t-“</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Say yes, Cas,” Dean said, and it sounded almost involuntary. “Say. . . Say <em>something</em>. Please.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel stared at him, then back down at the simple band of metal that meant so, so much more than just a ring. It was commitment, marriage, lifelong loyalty, and it was also <em>acceptance</em>. The acceptance that he was who he was, that what he was wasn’t wrong. That what had been pounded into his head all those years ago was wrong.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “No,” Castiel breathed.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean’s face crumpled. It wasn’t fast, wasn’t a flash of defeat. It was slow, painful, <em>agonizing</em> in the way that the light in his eyes died and the hopeful smile on his lips vanished.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Why?” he breathed, and he sounded so devastated, it made something in Castiel’s chest ache. “Cas, why? Why won’t you <em>say</em> it? Am I not enough? Please, <em>please</em>, Cas, say you love me. <em>Please</em>.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel shook his head. “Dean, no, I can’t-“</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Maybe it’s not <em>about</em> you!” Dean shouted, his voice echoing along the empty beach. He was still on one knee, ring still outstretched, tears streaming down his face. “God, Cas, I <em>love</em> you. Why don’t you love me back?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I <em>do</em>,” Castiel replied, and that was the closest he’d ever come to saying it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Then why won’t you say it? Say you love me. <em>Please</em>, Cas,” Dean begged, voice quieter than his previous shout. “Please.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel squeezed his eyes shut, unable to bear the look of utter heartbreak on his boyfriend’s face. “You need to give me time, Dean.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Cas,” Dean said, and it was more of a sob than anything else, “I <em>have</em>.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Tomorrow,” Castiel choked out. “Give me until tomorrow.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean sucked in a shaky breath. “You always say that,” he whispered, words nearly lost in the pounding of the surf to the left.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel clenched his jaw to keep his lower lip from trembling. “I know. I <em>know</em>, Dean, and I’m sorry. But this time, I promise I’ll give you an answer. It’s not a no, but it’s. . . I can’t say yes. N-Not yet.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean looked up at him with tear-filled green eyes. Castiel forced himself to hold Dean’s gaze. He’d caused that pain, after all. It was his fault.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Okay,” Dean said quietly.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He stood, closing the box and tucking it in his pocket. Castiel watched, feeling sick.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They both turned and walked back up the beach, silent. Castiel felt so fucking <em>stupid</em>, walking in the sand with his dress shoes, five feet of pain and agony between him and Dean, silence pressing in on him and making him want to choke. God, all he wanted to do was hug Dean, to help him wipe the tears he was so desperately trying to hide. It hurt something deep within Castiel to see that, by the time they reached the Lincoln, Dean had managed to hide all evidence of his previous pain. Save for a slight puffiness to his eyes, he looked completely normal.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel silently climbed into the driver’s seat, Dean quietly buckling into the passenger’s side. They’d left the Impala at the restaurant, a true testament to Dean’s nervousness. He’d been willing to take Castiel’s car down to the beach.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel knew he should go back and get Baby, but he just wanted to go home and sleep forever. They could get Baby tomorrow, when he figured out what the fuck was wrong with him and told Dean what he needed to hear.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>Yes. I love you. Yes.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel opened his mouth to try. He found his throat closed, his vocal chords tight and immovable. He closed his mouth, turning on the stereo instead. It was playing the cassette tape Dean had given him when he’d turned seventeen, and though it made Castiel want to cry harder, he couldn’t find the strength to change it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He stuck the key in the ignition and began to drive.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Later, Castiel would wonder if everything would have changed if he’d just said <em>yes</em>. If they would have stayed on that beach longer, or gone back to the restaurant to get Baby instead of heading home.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Or maybe what happened next was inevitable.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    As it was, Castiel didn’t like to think of the possibilities. What had been, was. There was no going back and changing it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    No changing the fact that they were driving on that road, at that time, on that night. No changing the fact that the truck driver was running on coffee and minimal sleep. No changing the fact that at exactly 8:06 on July 14, Mac Miller fell asleep at the wheel and drifted out of his lane, clipping the side of a Lincoln Continental Mark V and sending it spinning out of control.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel woke up behind the wheel of his smoking, warped car.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    His ears were ringing, his head pounding. Confusion fuzzed over rational thought. The random flashes of music from the broken stereo weren’t helping. His right wrist ached badly, his back crunched into an awkward position by the smashed-in back left door of the car.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The smashed-in door. . .</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel blinked around, fighting back the fuzziness of his vision. There were bright lights everywhere, the car was smoking, and beside him. . . Beside him was nothing. Shattered glass and the echoes of the songs that had been playing right before. . . before. . .</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>Dean</em>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel jolted, his head throbbing at the motion. Dean was gone. He wasn’t in the car with him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The dark-haired man fumbled for the door, registering distantly that the buckle had snapped on his seatbelt. It was loose around his waist. The airbag had saved his life.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel’s fingers felt clumsy and thick as he stuffed them into the latch of the door and pulled, falling out of the warped wreckage of his car. He needed to find Dean. Where was Dean?</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The semi-truck had fishtailed around, its headlights lighting the road in front of the Lincoln. One of them had been smashed out and was flickering, the other flaring brightly. In the blinding golden glow, Castiel saw the body sprawled on the roadway.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He stumbled forward, knees weak, body disjointed and strange. He needed to see that person, needed to know that it wasn’t Dean. It <em>couldn’t</em> be. The sinking, frigid feeling in his gut said otherwise.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel staggered over to the man on the roadway. He felt a cry rip loose from his throat as he recognized the freckled, handsome face, felt relief wash like a tidal wave when he heard the breathing.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Rattling, wet, faint, but <em>there</em>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Dean,” Castiel sobbed. His voice was wrecked and raspy. He fell to his knees next to Dean, feeling the pain of hitting the roadway distantly. The rough asphalt dug into his knees through the nice slacks he’d thrown on for dinner.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean breathed.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel grabbed at his face, desperate, and felt the warmth of life underneath his hands. It was warm tonight, the sunset casting a red glow along the roadway. All around, cars were coming to a stop, the street blocked by the enormous tail of the semi-truck.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel saw the flash of green, the distant look in Dean’s eyes.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Dean,” he choked out. “Dean, please. Look at me.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean didn’t react. Castiel sucked in a breath, panic tearing its way through his chest. His vision was blurring, the green of Dean’s eyes going in and out of focus through the panicked tears gathering.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean sucked in a weak, rattling inhale.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Underneath Castiel’s knees, liquid spread across the asphalt. The front of Dean’s dinner jacket was soaked with blood, pieces of glass flashing like diamonds in the moving headlights of cars on the other side of the roadway.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel hated that there were still cars moving. Didn’t they understand what was happening? Why wasn’t the world halting? Dean <em>was</em> his world, why wasn’t everything staying still?</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean breathed, and Castiel leaned down to press their foreheads against each other.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Dean,” he breathed. “Dean, look at me. Dean, look at me, <em>please</em>. <em>Dean</em>, oh, <em>God</em>-“ Castiel broke off with a sob.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tears, crystalline droplets of grief and unimaginable pain, fell. They were hot against the freckles of soft skin. Castiel could feel faint, warm breath ghosting against his lips.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Wet. Rattling. Glass. Punctured lungs.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel understood.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He sobbed again. “Dean? Dean, look at me. Dean, <em>please!</em>”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel tilted Dean’s head, staring desperately into his green eyes. They were blank and distant, but upon coming into contact with such familiar blue, a flicker of light appeared. “Cas. . .”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel sobbed at the weak voice. “I’m h-here. Dean, you need to hang on. Please, Dean, <em>please</em>.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean twitched, a muscle in his jaw firing rapidly for a moment before falling still again. “C’s. . .” he rasped again. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The stereo in the Lincoln was still going, flashing through random songs. The car, at least, seemed to understand that Castiel’s world was ending, even if the people passing on the other side of the road did not. It paused, seeming to decide on a song, and something in Castiel’s chest quaked and broke.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “<em>I wish somebody would have told me, babe. . . that someday these would be the good old days. . .</em>”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The sound was bad, the song playing slower than normal, but it still brought Castiel back to that mountaintop on his seventeenth birthday, the blanket on the Impala, the green-eyed boy sitting next to him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He sobbed. “Dean.” Dean didn’t respond this time, his eyes taking on that vacant look again, and Castiel realized he was probably in a lot of pain. He could faintly hear the breathing again, could hear Dean still fighting even after all this time. <em>What do they do in the movies? They talk to distract from the pain, right?</em> “Dean, do you r-remember my birthday? We ate c-cake on top of the Impala, and you convinced me to eat half of a pizza with you.” Castiel choked on a little sob, forcing a watery smile to his face at the memory. “I remember how much I hated you the next morning when I had to swim. I couldn’t blame you, though. Not when you were so thoughtful. An-And then that next night, John b-beat you and I went and held you and we watched the s-sunrise.” Castiel knew he was babbling at this point, but he didn’t care. “Have you seen the sunset, Dean? It’s b-beau-It’s beau-It’s. . . oh, God. Oh, <em>God</em>. It’s b-beautiful. J-Just like you.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He looked up at the dying sun, then down at Dean. The green-eyed man’s chest was rising, weak and shallow, his breathing wet. When Castiel turned Dean’s face to look in his eyes, this time there was no flicker of recognition.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “<em>Someday soon, your whole life’s gonna change. You’ll miss the magic of these good old days. . .</em>”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel could hear someone shouting about 911 behind him. He could hear people, could hear cars, but the rest of the world didn’t matter anymore. All that mattered was this man beneath him, the man that he loved so deeply.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I’m sorry,” Castiel blurted out, voice thick and shaky with tears. “I’m sorry. I’m so s-sorry. You waited so long for me to say it.” He took a shaky breath, feeling Dean do the same. “I’m sorry. You. . . You don’t have to wait for me anymore, Dean.” Dean’s green eyes stared up at the sky as Castiel loosened his hold on his head. He still didn’t react, the lines on his handsome face going smooth. “You don’t have to wait on me. You can. . . You can go now. You can go.” Castiel sobbed, his face twisting with pain. “You can g-go. I’m sorry for making you wait. You d-don’t have to wait for me anymore. It’s ok-okay. I. . . I l-love you, Dean. I love you.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “<em>You don’t know. . . What you’ve got. . . ’Til it goes. . .</em>”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel pressed his forehead to Dean’s again, and he could feel the second the man stopped breathing. “I love you,” he breathed.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “<em>. . . ‘</em><em>Til it’s gone. . .</em>”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean never got to tell Castiel that he’d heard him.</p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. Chapter 24</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p></p><div>
  <p>    <strong>Twenty-Four</strong></p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They pronounced Dean dead at the scene.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They put him on a stretcher.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They covered his broken body with a white sheet.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They put Castiel in the back of a squad car, the police officer kind and understanding and <em>Castiel didn’t care.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He remembered the feeling of Dean’s warm face between his hands. He’d been alive just a few minutes ago, and now he wasn’t.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He would never forget the look in those lifeless green eyes.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He felt like a child.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>Where’s Dean? Where did he go? He was just here, where’s he hiding?</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>    A child, yes. Stuck playing a sick, twisted game of hide-and-seek where he sought Dean forever.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    And never found him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Never again.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel didn’t speak, even as they dropped him off at the hospital and a kind nurse knelt in front of him and explained that they needed to check for head trauma.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Halfway through the doctor checking for broken ribs, Castiel asked for Dean. Where was he, God damn it? He’d been around just a second ago. Just a second ago. . .</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Sam was waiting for Castiel when he was allowed to have visitors after the doctor left. He had a concussion and three broken fingers and a sprained wrist, and they were keeping him ‘just in case’. Castiel felt like he should be dead.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Sam didn’t think so. He embraced Castiel and cried and thanked God that he was alive.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel felt like he should be dead.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Dean’s dead,” he blurted, voice loud and awkward in the quiet room. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Sam sobbed a little, nodding through his tears. “I know, Cas.” His voice was so full of pain, such a contrast to the bright happiness it had been infused with the night before.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean had been happy, too. He’d been sitting <em>right</em> across from Sam. Sitting right next to Castiel. He’d been there.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “Dean’s dead,” Castiel repeated, the words tasting like ash on his tongue. “Where’d he go, Sam? I was holding him just a second ago.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Sam simply shook his head and sobbed.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I told him I loved him, Sam. I think he heard me,” Castiel said. “I think he heard me.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel felt like he should be dead.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The hospital released him two days later. Sam took him home and allowed him to stay in the spare bedroom in the apartment he and Jess shared. Jess was quiet and left him alone.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel didn’t cry.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He couldn’t. He couldn’t do anything. Couldn’t eat. Couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t cry.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Couldn’t believe that the love of his life was gone.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    It all shattered when Dean’s belongings came back to them in a box. Among the ruined clothes and Impala car keys and scuffed boots was a tiny little box.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel fell to his knees when Sam held it up. <em>What is this, Cas? </em>Sam asked.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>Will you marry me, Cas?</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    Say something, Cas.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    Please, Cas.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel vomited, all over Sam and his own shoes.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Sam didn’t comment, just knelt next to him and asked if he was alright. Castiel wasn’t alright, what a stupid question. He would never be alright.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean was gone.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel felt like dying.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He took the box from Sam, opened it, and pulled out the ring. The blood drained from Sam’s face, and Castiel vomited again.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    When Sam tried to take it from him, gentle and understanding, Castiel punched him. Hard. He put the ring in his pocket and ran to his room, leaving Sam with a mess and a throbbing cheek and his own horrid thoughts.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel still didn’t cry.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They planned the funeral. It was on a Thursday, exactly two weeks after the accident.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel hated that word.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    ‘Accident’. As if it was a simple slip-up that had taken the light of his life from him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He attended, kept silent the whole time. He didn’t cry, even when Sam read his speech and brought everyone else to tears. Castiel was too numb to cry.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He didn’t cry as they closed the box, sealing Dean away from the sun forever.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He didn’t cry as they put the box in the ground, returning Dean to the earth.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He didn’t cry, but he stayed.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Long after everyone else had gone home, after Sam had eventually given up and left in his car—his Dodge Charger that Dean had bought him for his sixteenth birthday—Castiel stayed.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He knelt by Dean’s grave, silent and unmoving.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. He just sat there, facing that new gray headstone, that fresh mound of earth, and held the band of metal in his fingers.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>Tomorrow</em>, he’d said.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He stared at the newly carved writing on that stone. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>Dean Winchester.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    January 24th, 1979 - July 12th, 2006</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    Rest in Peace.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>   Castiel stayed at Dean’s grave, all through the cold night and cruel hours. He stayed, even as the sky turned gray in the east. He remembered the first time they’d ever seen a sunrise together. They’d been merely fourteen, young and inexperienced and bright. Dean had been standing beside him, and they’d been so close. . .</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    There were many sunrises after that. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel’s seventeenth birthday. The sunrise that they’d danced to, finally together. The hundreds where they’d just stood, too many words and Dean’s bruises between them.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    There were sunsets too. Many, many sunsets. And the one that Dean had died underneath. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    That one too.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel stayed and watched this sunrise, content to watch one more with Dean.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He stayed until the sun rose above the horizon. Until it stained the world golden. He stayed until it lit the words carved into Dean’s headstone, and then he stood and left without a word.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel realized he hadn’t spoken since the night Dean died when he opened his mouth to apologize to Sam for the bruise on his cheek and all that came out was a rasp.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Sam forgave him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel left the bookstore to Garth for a while, didn’t answer his brothers’ phone calls. He sat in the empty apartment that had once been his and Dean’s, listened to the echoes of deep, beautiful laughter in the walls.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He played his violin once, that love song he’d never been able to play for Dean. He imagined Dean’s smile, his beautiful, rich voice singing along.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel went into their room and played that old tape that Dean had said he played too loud. It had still been intact after that accident, a crazy coincidence. Castiel had stared at it for a very, very long time.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    ‘Good Old Days’ played, and Castiel felt close to crying. He crammed a fist in his mouth and curled up in the corner, unable to do much more than breathe through the panic attack that had suddenly snuck up on him, unstable and undetectable.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Those haunting words, that haunting song. . . Castiel closed his eyes and listened, imagined sitting on the hood of the Impala and watching the sun rise with his favorite person in the entire world.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The song ended, and Castiel threw the record player against the wall. It shattered, and he couldn’t seem to care. He didn’t care that he cut his hands picking up the shards.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel didn’t break anything else.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He laid in bed for a day before he managed to get up and drink water. Part of him wanted to just not drink or eat, just dehydrate himself until he died.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>Dean wouldn’t want that.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>    It was the only thing that kept Castiel going.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel sat in bed again many weeks later, only he was upright this time. He stared at the keys on the nightstand, the leather fob well-worn and well-loved.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel couldn’t bring himself to touch the keys.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Sam had gone and retrieved the Impala from the restaurant a few days after the accident. He’d put her in her rightful place underneath the apartment where they lived. Castiel’s Lincoln was totaled, and that was fine. He couldn’t even look at the car without vomiting.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    But the Impala. . .</p>
</div><div>
  <p> Memories assaulted Castiel, images and feelings and sights and sounds and smells.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    Dean, smiling and laughing as the wind blew through his hair.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    Dean, picking him up at an ungodly time of night so they could drive somewhere and just talk for hours.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    Dean, sitting with him on the hood of the Impala, watching the sunrise, both of them eating pizza and cake that Castiel knew he would regret when he tried to swim tomorrow.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    Dean, laughing and talking to Castiel even as they both walked slowly away from each other at the end of a school day, both pulled toward their cars and separate lives, but pulled toward each other as well.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    Dean, Dean, Dean.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The Impala was Dean, and Dean was the Impala, in a crazy way.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel took the keys off the nightstand. He left the apartment. He walked down the stairs, into the parking garage. He opened the door.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He sat in the passenger seat of the Impala and closed the door and put his head on her dashboard and <em>breathed</em>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    It smelled like Dean in the Impala.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Like leather and motor oil and sunshine and <em>love</em>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel could breathe again.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He began to do that every day. Castiel would go down and sit in the Impala, when things became too hard. He would sit there and breathe, just breathe, for hours on end. Sometimes he’d cry. Sometimes he’d scream. One memorable night, he actually went down and slept in the front seat, unable to bear sleeping in their empty bed.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Things got easier. They got easier, because he felt like he was closer to Dean.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Eventually, he was able to climb into the driver’s side, not just the passenger’s seat. Eventually, he was able to put the keys into the ignition, able to hear the rumble of the engine and maybe, just maybe, the faint echo of Dean’s laughter and smile.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    One day, Castiel put the keys in the ignition and pulled out of the garage. He started driving, and he didn’t look back.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel drove, and he didn’t stop. He had something he had to do.</p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0025"><h2>25. Chapter 25</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p>
<p></p><div>
  <p>    <strong>Twenty-Five</strong></p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Lawrence, Kansas, was the exact same as Castiel remembered it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He wondered at the years that had passed, the times that had changed. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    It had been nearly a decade since they’d left.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He drove right past the turn into his old neighborhood, where he knew his parents were likely taking their lunch right about now. He wondered what he’d say to them if he saw them.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>Oh yeah, Dean Winchester, the boy I fell in love with, is dead. If you hadn’t guessed by now, I’m gay.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He drove past, hands tight on the wheel.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel drove past the old ice cream parlor, the mechanic shop, the high school.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He drove and drove until he’d reached a familiar place, now worn and broken with age.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel climbed out of the Impala and stared up at the old house, eyed the graffiti and cracked windows, broken boards and rotting planks.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Taking a breath, he stepped up to the front door. It was locked, but when he kicked at it, he found the old wood gave easily. With a creak, the door to the old Winchester home opened.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel stepped inside, the interior stinking of mold and ghosts.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel walked through, intent on finding what he’d come for, brushing off the cobwebs and memories that pulled at the edges of the tan trench coat he hadn’t yet been persuaded to part with.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He came to the small bedroom and entered, eyes immediately going the mattress on the right.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The one closest to the door.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The one that had the most broken springs, the most holes and stains and tears.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dean’s.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel knelt beside the bed and reached underneath, hand sliding between the mattress and the boxspring. He searched for a while, sweeping his hand around in between the two parts of the bed. Eventually, his questing fingers found what he’d been looking for. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    A small stack of pictures, faded and stained and forgotten.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel pulled them out and pocketed them, calmly leaving the bedroom.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He left the house, leaving behind the ghosts and memories of the past. He got into the Impala and drove a few miles down the road until he got to a familiar turn, a bend in the road that led to a small hill and a creek that ran cool even in the heat of summer.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel trudged up the hill and found his favorite spot, a small, flat stump on which he had been able to sit and dry off under the heat of the sun’s rays, all those years ago.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He sat down heavily, the echoes of his and Dean’s laughter and shouts reaching his ears.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel pulled out the pictures and looked at them, one by one, flipping through bits and pieces of a life that felt like it had been lived a long time ago.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    Dean smiling.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    Castiel laughing.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    Castiel, with his stupid science project on the effects of stress on chickens’ egg production.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    Sam, with his bright smile and his ‘I Graduated Lawrence Middle School!’ certificate.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    Dean again, smiling beside Castiel in the front of the Impala.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    Dean, in a picture taken by Castiel, driving and flipping off the camera with a shit-eating grin.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    Castiel, working at the ice cream parlor.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    Sam, staring wide-eyed at an eagle circling overhead.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    Castiel, laughing and illuminated by the light of the rising sun.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    Castiel, staring at something off in the distance.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    Castiel, holding a first-place medal for State swimming.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    Castiel, crossing the finish line of some unknown race, sweaty and red-faced and grinning.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    Castiel, smiling and laughing at the camera.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel, Castiel, Castiel. So many pictures of him. Castiel smiled through his tears, the warm evidence of his chest-aching sadness.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>God, he really did love me. And I loved him too</em>, Castiel thought, chuckling softly at a picture of himself staring at what must have been Dean, a look of such adoration on his face that it hurt to see. Castiel smiled.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He looked at the pictures for a long, long time. He looked at them until they were imprinted in his mind, in his heart. He looked at them until he finally understood the true depth of the love he and Dean had shared. He looked at them until he couldn’t think of anything but his absolute adoration for the beautiful human that had been Dean Winchester.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel looked at the pictures until he couldn’t see them anymore, the sun having long since set.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The dark-haired man put the pictures in his pocket and stood, barely feeling the ache of his body from sitting for such a long time. He quietly looked around the twilit creek, his mind putting a veil of sunlight over it for a moment. For a few seconds, Castiel could see himself and Dean, young and gangly, wrestling in the water. He could see them sitting on the bank, lying back on the grass, staring up at the clouds. He could see the light and love in their eyes, even when they had been so young.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel turned and went back to the Impala.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He drove all night, not really feeling tired, and sped up once once he’d reached Palo Alto. He drove past their apartment, drove past the turn to go see Sam.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He drove all the way to the cemetery, and he only stopped moving when he finally came to rest beside Dean’s grave.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel knelt beside the simple little gravestone, pictures in one hand and ring in the other. He stared at the neat lettering, Dean’s name scrawled into eternity. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel smiled, a little sad, a little happy.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I would have said yes, you know,” he said quietly, voice raspy from disuse. “I would have said yes to you.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He took a shuddering breath, the sound swallowed by the emptiness of the cemetery in the quiet before dawn. Castiel wiped his eyes.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “I would have said yes to you, and I’m sorry that I made you wait. I’m sorry I made us wait until tomorrow,” Castiel said. He inhaled, deep and shaking, and felt the words emerge easily. “I love you. I love you, Dean Winchester, and nothing, not even death, will ever change that.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The wind stirred the trees. Castiel smiled through his tears, the words on Dean’s headstone blurring slightly.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He slid the ring onto his finger, right where it belonged and would forever stay. He put the pictures in his breast pocket, near his heart, where they were meant to be.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Castiel wiped his eyes, took a steadying breath. He closed his eyes and <em>felt</em> Dean’s presence, felt his love.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Silence filled the cemetery, gentle and peaceful.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>I love you, Dean Winchester</em>, Castiel said in his mind. <em>I always will</em>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    After an eternity, he opened his eyes and faced the rising sun.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <strong>The End.</strong>
  </p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm sorry.</p><p>I love you, and I'm sorry.</p><p>I hope you don't hate me, I really do. I meant to make you sad, yes, but also to highlight the uncertainty of life, the illusion of immortality. My intention was to kill Dean all along. The references to car crashes throughout the chapters aren't coincidences.</p><p>Please forgive me. I promise my next fic will be much more lighthearted.</p><p>You are all precious to me, and I am so grateful for all your support throughout this story. Your predictions and reactions, thoughts and feelings, were all so amazing and made this such an enjoyable experience. I hope this ending seems fitting.</p><p>Thank you to everyone who read this, and to the readers to come (if there are any). I love all of you.</p><p>Please remember to make the most of today. There is no promised tomorrow.</p><p>~Faster_Than_the_Speed_of_Sound</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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